


The Sexuality Quandary

by April in Paris (April_in_Paris)



Category: Shamy - Fandom, The Big Bang Theory (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexual, Asexuality Spectrum, Drama, F/M, Romance, Sexual Confusion, graysexual, shamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-06-22 07:14:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 79,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15576606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_in_Paris/pseuds/April%20in%20Paris
Summary: Where does Sheldon self-identify on the sexual spectrum? A serious exploration of Sheldon and Amy's relationship, physical and otherwise, as it is presented in canon and how it may be shaped by Sheldon's internal conflicts on sexuality. Does his self-examination lead to off-screen honesty about their relationship? Or is it why assumptions and miscommunications plague them? CANONPublished simultaneously on fanfiction.net.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A note on the rating: While this story does follow canon, and thus there will be coitus, it's an M-rated story for the subjects covered and the technical terminology used. Sheldon is a scientist - and not a shy one. Neither is this story.

**"Honestly, we've been operating under the assumption that he has no deal."**

Sheldon knew he was the butt of Howard and Raj's jokes. Sometimes Leonard joined in, and sometimes Leonard just looked at him with what Sheldon assumed was a mix of acceptance and pity.

Well, so what? Coitus just wasn't his thing. He didn't understand the need for it, other than for procreation, and he certainly didn't understand why such an overwhelming amount of time and conversation was devoted to it. Studies reported the average coital connection lasted between five and eight minutes; why did something so brief in duration matter so much? He found it unnecessary. Given all the grand mysteries of the universe yet to be solved, it seemed boring and basic. There was only one tab and one slot; it was harder to assemble a Lego model. And, sometimes, living across from Penny and next to Leonard, it sounded downright uncomfortable with all that grunting and screaming.

Despite his eidetic memory, Sheldon couldn't pinpoint the moment he realized he was asexual. Rather, it was just something he'd always been, just like his hair had always been dark. He had known he was different than everyone else he met his entire life, and while that was usually because of his superior intelligence, it became apparent in adolescence that there were other differences, too. MeeMaw was happily dating, Georgie was staying out past curfew to come home with ruffled hair and the scent of cheap perfume on his clothes, and even Missy would get all doe-eyed, first at the members of the latest boy band and later with whoever had the fastest motorcycle.

If he were being honest, there were times it bothered him. Everyone around him seemed to crave sexual attention and interactions, and he'd much rather study or read a comic book. Although there was sex even there. He couldn't escape it. Even as an adult - a very professionally successful one, he might add - there were many times the jokes of his friends didn't resonate with him, if he even understood them at all.

But one thing Sheldon never lacked was self-confidence, and, as long as his friends left him to be who he was, he found satisfaction in their camaraderie. The four of them had so many other shared interests, and, while his friends weren't as smart as him, well, who was, really? Sadly, Stephen Hawking was unlikely to participate in paintball.

Which is why Leonard's blatant comment surprised him. (When was Leonard going to learn that Sheldon had Vulcan hearing? There were no secrets in the hallway.) Sheldon had never explicitly stated his sexual orientation to his friends, and he did not know it had been seriously debated between them. It was all Penny's fault, as so many things were. It was she who asked. It was she who seemed to find asexuality unfathomable.

However, Sheldon didn't feel the need to discuss it with her, as he'd long since relegated thoughts of his sexuality to the folder of solved conundrums, the one for which further examination was unnecessary. He was asexual, he always had been, and he always would be. Some people may have fluid sexuality or find that their previous sexual orientations failed to suit them as time passed, but not him. After less than five minutes of reflection, Sheldon shrugged to himself and put it out of his mind as he returned to something more important, which was almost anything else.

* * *

**"Now, before this goes any further, you should know that all forms of physical contact up to and including coitus are off the table."**

He had not wanted to go. A date led to a romantic relationship which led to sex, in which he was not interested. Since it was so obvious to Leonard, why couldn't it be obvious to Howard and Raj, too? However, faced with the prospect of a hidden dirty sock, he had capitulated to their demands, no matter how it pained him.

Imagine his pleasant surprise, then, when the young woman in glasses and a cardigan informed him she was also asexual. She disclosed it within the first five minutes! What a relief! He offered to buy her a beverage, intrigued to learn more about her career without the messy business of so-called sexual tension in the air.

Sheldon thought, for a second as they sat drinking tea and tepid water, that he should directly ask if she were asexual. But then he thought he heard his mother's voice in his head, telling him it was rude to discuss sex. And this Amy Farrah Fowler person was so fascinating on her own, just as he hoped. Most important, it was obvious, wasn't it? He could hardly imagine a clearer declaration of one's sexual orientation.

* * *

**"Amy pointed out that between the two of us, our genetic material has the potential of producing the first in a line of intellectually superior, benign overlords to guide humanity to a brighter tomorrow."**

This friendship was perfect. Not only was Amy a brilliant scientist - even if her field was biology - but her blunt honesty was refreshing. There was no need to guess what she was really thinking beneath that mud-brown hair. None of that aforementioned sexual tension. If only his friends would stop mocking him, calling it a "date" and Amy his "girlfriend."

Previously, Sheldon had thought that cloning himself was the only way to gift mankind with his progeny. It was the purest option, without any subpar DNA to dilute his. But when the issue of creating offspring with Amy arose, he realized she could make some very valuable contributions to his plan. It went without saying that Amy meant this procreation would take place in a controlled laboratory setting, with each party in a separate room. Yes, there was that surprising experiment on orgasms she had participated in, but it was all in the name of science. And self-gratification was understandable, even to him. Not to mention the cloning of human beings was illegal.

Until Penny ruined it by bringing up his mother.

* * *

**"** **An experiment. . . Nope. Nothing. Never mind."**

If his life were a sitcom, he imagined that the viewing masses would laugh, thinking it was a joke. Lesser minds. He had been serious. Of course asexual Amy wasn't sexually attracted to Zach. He just mentioned it to be thorough, because that's what a scientist did. But primary sexual arousal based purely on physical attributes? And with that buffoon? Maybe he could understand some mild interest in holding hands with Tesla after working with him for many months on perfecting the teleforce. Perhaps even Sheldon wouldn't mind that.

He only took her to the bar to prove to Amy that she was above all this, that she didn't _want_ to be horny. What a gauche term, anyway. Rather, she couldn't help it. Her current state of mind was just some unexpected blip of her endocrine system. The sooner they dealt with her temporary hormonal imbalance and returned to their friendship of the mind, the better. Granted, his heart had hammered louder than he would have thought for an experiment that had a foregone conclusion, but that had not lessened his satisfaction that Amy had not given in to her baser urges. Rather, just as he expected for asexual creatures such as themselves, that urge had evaporated on its own when faced with the reality of acting upon it. Nothing had changed, there was no interloper to ruin their friendship.

The only surprise was that Amy reached out for his hand as they left. Weren't all forms of physical contact off the table? And what did she mean by "nothing"? Did she think he was going to squeeze her hand back, weave his fingers through hers? Did she honestly think _he_ would be a slave to a similar temporary anomaly? Although she wasn't Tesla and they hadn't spent months working together on the teleforce, Sheldon decided he didn't mind this action. After all, this was Amy, so it wasn't sexual, just as it wouldn't be with Tesla; why had he even wondered? It was, as she said, an experiment. At worst, it was just a sort of thank you, a display of friendship.

* * *

**"** **Sheldon and I engaged in sexual intercourse. In other news, I'm thinking of starting an herb garden. Mum's the word. Gotta go."**

The social experiment was not flawed. Obviously, as he and Amy had developed it together. Oh, she was sly, sly like a fox. (A fixen, actually, Northern Middle English for female fox. Now commonly pronounced and spelled as vixen. Just a fox, nothing else; as a student of Chaucer, Amy knew this.) But Sheldon had not hypothesized that everyone would believe it so readily; even Leonard had asked Amy if she was really pregnant with Sheldon's non-test tube progeny, he of the "no deal" claim.

Why were his friends so blind to realities? Why did they seem incapable of wrapping their hindbrains around this sexual minority of which both he and Amy were members?

He thought about saying, at their next Friday night gathering, "Amy and I are in a happy asexual friendship of the mind, and we would both appreciate your respect of that." But shouldn't he mention this to Amy first? Other than the evening they met, she had never mentioned her sexuality directly to him again. It wasn't his place to out her, as it were. They really did have the perfect friendship, and he didn't want to risk that by airing her most private thoughts in public.

And, really, they were friends, just friends. He had repeatedly been very clear that Amy was his friend, not his girlfriend. Friends do not have sexual relations with each other, regardless of Penny's use of the phrase "friends with benefits." Certainly, Sheldon didn't and wouldn't, and they should all know that about him by now. Ergo, the status of his friendship with Amy was self-evident.

Besides, the mere thought of the resulting quips, retorts, misunderstandings, assumptions, and questions if he were to say something was exhausting, and Sheldon decided against saying anything to anyone.

* * *

**"** **Not necessary. We know everything there is to know about kissing. It requires 34 facial muscles and 112 postural muscles."**

What had happened to her? Was it the alcohol? It had to be the alcohol, it was the only logical explanation for why his asexual friend had kissed him on the sofa after a night of dancing and general rowdiness. She had even sung that song about kissing, for goodness sake! She was clearly not in her right mind.

Granted, this radical change in her behavior was coming hot on the heels of their little social experiment in which Amy suggested they tell everyone they had engaged in sexual intercourse. That was concerning, but perhaps still coincidental.

But it _had_ been fascinating. He had never been kissed by anyone other than his mother, his grandmother, and Leonard's mother before. Only motherly-type people. But Amy's kiss wasn't repulsive at all, which surprised him. It was just . . . fascinating. Not that it mattered, it would not be repeated. And he was content with that.

Fortunately, she had forgotten all about it thanks to alcohol-induced amnesia. And she agreed to a reset.

* * *

**"** **For the record, I do have genitals. They're functional and aesthetically pleasing."**

Maybe it was a missed opportunity. If it hadn't been for the importance of the upcoming interdepartmental paintball tournament, he could have taken the time to explain to Leonard and the others that it was a common misconception that asexuals had malfunctioning genitals.

Being asexual did not mean that Sheldon was impotent or any other medical condition that might adversely affect the performance of his reproductive organs. He was quite cable of getting and maintaining an erection; he woke up with one most mornings, just like any other healthy male. His penis responded to physical manipulation and stimulation. His ejaculate volume and make-up, his urologist had reassured him after Sheldon insisted he test a sample, were within normal parameters.

It was even true that he masturbated once a month in the shower as part of his personal cleansing ritual, to lower his blood pressure and because some doctors believed it could lower one's risk for prostate cancer. But he would never discuss something that personal. Not that there was much to tell, for Sheldon never felt any sexual attraction for the pictures of the supposedly sexy famous science fiction-related females he flipped through in his mind because it was presumed that was what one was supposed to do at just such a time. Mechanically, everything operated properly, and he even enjoyed the rush of endorphins at the end and the brief high he experienced from it throughout breakfast. It was likely that Leonard never noticed his improved mood because Sheldon was such a cheerful and sunny person on non-masturbatory days as well.

It had always been females. Once, out of curiosity, he tried males and that was the only time his genitals did fail, the one time he did find himself adverse to the act. It seemed his hetero-preference was just as ingrained as was his disinterest on acting on that preference. He didn't mind if that's what someone else preferred, not at all; it just wasn't for him.

The only thing that set him apart in that regard was that he didn't crave it for its own sake. Once a month was enough. He also enjoyed a good slice of his mother's homemade layered chocolate cake, but he'd never felt the drive to make one from scratch. Chocolate, too, could cause a release of endorphins, although on a lesser scale. Interestingly, both the making of a cake from scratch and masturbating caused too much of a mess. But one could be performed in a shower and one could not.

* * *

" **We cuddle. Final offer**."

Now, _this_ was more than concerning. Although her emotions were high, there was no alcohol involved. He hadn't been able to keep silent this time. He pointed out what Amy already knew: theirs was a relationship of the mind.

But after her other suggestions, cuddling wasn't so bad. And he had promised to keep an open mind. Parents and children often cuddled and there was nothing whatsoever sexual in that. And, surprisingly, it _was_ comforting after the initial awkwardness faded. It felt like a hug from Meemaw when he was sad himself, and he knew how profoundly reassuring those hugs could be. Not sexual at all.

Nonetheless, given the other words Amy had thrown out and the even more alarming adjectives she attached to them ( _torrid_ lovemaking, _inflamed_ loins, _French_ kissing!), Sheldon was confused for the rest of the night. And when he was confused he couldn't sleep. Only one thing could help him sleep: research and the power of a logical, scientific solution.

"Asexuals who want to cuddle." "Asexuals who want to kiss." "Asexuals who want to engage in sexual intercourse." Repeatedly, Google lead him to the same solution. At last, Sheldon closed his laptop with a satisfied grunt, confident he had the correct answer to his predicament. Amy Farrah Fowler was a demisexual, not asexual, and her emotional bond to him was predicating some sort of sexual attraction to him. It was clear there was an emotional attachment, as she had called him - one of her dearest friends - in tears caused by her distressed state.

But . . . what did this new, untested, previously unconsidered gray area mean for them? If Amy felt that emotionally attached to him, would she want more than just a friendship of the mind? Would she continue to accept and respect his asexuality? Could they maintain their status quo with this new information lurking on the horizon? There was no satisfyingly correct answer to these questions. Sleep remained evasive.

* * *

**"Why is everyone so obsessed with Amy and Stuart? And whether or not they may be having more pumpkin lattes or intercourse tonight?"**

It pained him to admit it, given his superior intellect, but he had not seen this coming.

At first, it had seemed like the perfect solution to his conundrum. If Amy shifted her emotional bond to Stuart, then nothing would change in Sheldon's asexual friendship of the mind with her. Yes, he had to put up with Leonard's smothering cluckiness about the whole thing, but surely that would be worth it in the end.

He felt loyalty to her, as his friend, so he also felt the need to defend her to his friends. Obviously, Amy would be the far more intriguing and intelligent half of that theoretical relationship. If she would even deign to go out with Stuart, which Sheldon found unlikely. But she surprised him. So, he defended her even further over the game of cards: she was interesting, she was brave, she was skilled in the field of self-surgery, she was . . . dynamite? Lordy, where did that word come from?

The question became did he want someone else lighting his dynamite? Because, now that Sheldon knew she was demisexual, she was just like a stick of dynamite: inert in its resting state, highly flammable when exposed to the flame of attraction caused by a deep emotional bond. Wait, when did she become _his_ dynamite? Well, she was and that's all there was to it! And just because he was sure he didn't want to have sexual intercourse with Amy, didn't mean he wanted anybody else to.

* * *

**"** **With the understanding that nothing changes whatsoever, physical or otherwise, I would not object to us . . . no longer characterizing you . . . as not my girlfriend."**

He could not have been clearer. Sheldon even put it all down in writing, the most minute detail, even boos-boos and ouchies. After the revelation that perhaps he needed to reassess Amy's sexual orientation, The Relationship Agreement felt restrictive in the best possible way. Now he didn't have to worry about any awkward conversations with Amy, the ones about which he had been procrastinating. It was spelled out in black-and-white, in plain English, in ten-point Helvetica New. She had agreed to maintaining an asexual girlfriend/boyfriend relationship; granted, the word asexual did not appear in print, but Sheldon suspected she was demisexual now. Regardless of the terminology, the rules were clear. She had signed without a lawyer and only the one small quibble about hand-holding.

They were, as evidenced by her notarized signature, literally on the same page.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Dear readers:_ **

**_This story is going to cover some sensitive and serious issues. A person's sexuality is an extremely personal matter, and it's possible that no two people feel exactly the same way about their sexuality. The statements included reflect my opinion of only one person's possible sexuality, even while I acknowledge both that I could be mistaken and that not all persons on the graysexual spectrum have the same experiences or feel the same as I have presented Sheldon here._ **

**_I myself do not identify as on the graysexual spectrum, so I cannot write with firsthand knowledge or_ ** **_exerpience. My primary source of reference was the wonderful book_ The Invisible Orientation: An Orientation to Asexuality _by Julia Sondra Decker. I have chosen to use the terms and definiations as used in that book. However, even Ms. Decker acknowledges that those terms may have different shades of meanings to different persons, and that not all persons on the graysexual spectrum agree on certain terms. I highly encourage anyone interested in greater understanding of graysexual spectrum orientations to read her work._**

**_And, as always, thank you in advance for your reviews._ **


	2. Chapter 2

**"** **Well, you skip over any attempt to repair your emotional connection and you win back her affection with an empty financial gesture."**

Girlfriend/boyfriend relationships sucked. There was no polite way to phrase it. Despite his warning, and despite her agreeing to it, things had changed. Previously, Amy would have fought back if she was unhappy with him. Now she hid in the bathroom at the Cheesecake Factory and left Penny to do her dirty work.

And now, for some reason, he was expected to "make it up to her"! Did emotional attachment also mean emotional manipulation? Thankfully, Leonard actually proved to be helpful for once and provided a solution.

* * *

**"** **You're right, the tiara was too much."**

It shouldn't have been surprising, given his intelligence and good looks, but he was downright incendiary to Amy. She kissed him and threw her arms around him. He patted her back in return, and let her continue to hug him. He knew, both from her forgotten drunken kiss and from their single episode of cuddling, that neither of these activities were odious with Amy and her high standards of personal hygiene. And obviously she was overcome with gratitude. Given her highly flammable state, he thought a kiss and hug was getting off light.

* * *

**"** **We can be like Marie Curie and her husband, Pierre, who spent their days working side by side, bathed in the glow of their love and the radium that ultimately killed her. Screw Beauty and the Beast, that's the love story Disney should tell."**

Ugh, forced vacation. Ugh, biology. Ugh, Amy acting like she was smarter than him. Ugh, blood and stitches.

It did not occur to him at the time she said it, but it awoke him in the middle of the night. Love. Amy said the word love. Twice. Oh Lordy.

* * *

**"** **He showed up in the middle of the night with his bongos. I foolishly thought it was some sort of musical booty call."**

Among Penny's plethora of faults, one of the largest was that she could not keep her Nebraskan claptrap shut. There were no secrets around Penny. Before the day was out, he had heard that Amy thought he was making a "booty call."

"What do you think of that, Sheldon?" Penny asked.

"I think that Amy must have been very sleep deprived to think I stole my bongos from a pirate," Sheldon answered. "Poor kid."

"Uh, no. A booty call is when you just show up somewhere hoping to have sex, no other reason."

"Coitus with a pirate?" Sheldon asked, turning away from his computer screen and toward her in confusion.

Penny rolled her eyes. "No, sweetie, with someone you know. Like, you know, friends with benefits."

"Don't bother," Leonard chimed in. "Come on, we'll be late for the movie."

Sheldon shook his head in dismay as the door shut behind them. Did Penny really think that he had the morals of a common jackrabbit? Or her? And again with the friends with benefits! Obviously, Amy was being humorous and Penny just didn't get it. The Relationship Agreement never once mentioned booty calls or friends with benefits. Of course, it didn't cover showing up at Amy's apartment in the middle of the night, either . . .

* * *

**"** **Her efforts are causing me to have affectionate feelings for her at inappropriate times."**

Self-doubt was not an experience that Sheldon Cooper enjoyed. Fortunately, it was one with which he rarely found himself face-to-face. But there was no doubt that the little seed of self-doubt in his brain had been watered with Strawberry Qwik at the hands of one Amy Farrah Fowler. Leonard had only made it worse by planting his only mental germ. No, of course he didn't think of Amy in the shower. His monthly self-gratification event in the shower was a very controlled, well-timed, unwavering, necessary endeavor.

It just so happened the next morning was said morning. Standing under the stream of water, he flipped through the standard pictures in his mind, not really because he especially enjoyed them, but because they were part of the process. There was a rhythm to the whole thing: _Cat_ \- up - _woman_ -down - _Wonder_ \- up - _Woman_ \- down - _Yeoman_ \- up - _Rand_ \- down - _Xena_ \- up - _Warrior Princess_ \- down - _She_ \- up - _Ra_ \- down -

Sheldon stopped. Maybe Leonard had a point. Maybe he should be thinking about Amy in the shower. She was his girlfriend, after all. It seemed like an appropriate thing to do. Plus, she had been wearing a science fiction costume. If nothing else, it would be an experiment to see if a woman within his reach would change the way he felt about the experience.

With a shrug, Sheldon resumed. _Gala_ \- up - _driel_ \- down - _Lois_ \- up - _Lane_ \- down - _Amy's_ \- up - _bottom in_ \- down - _that Star Trek uniform!_

"Grmpmmmhhh!" Sheldon's shoulder slammed into the tile as he climaxed. Right on schedule. See, Leonard had been wrong. Everything happened just as it normally did.

But what was it, just for a second, that felt different?

* * *

**"** **Boldly go, Howard Wolowitz."**

Granted, he wasn't falling off a cliff or getting his flu shot. And he'd be better dressed if he were winning the Nobel Prize. But there was a grandeur, a majesty to the moment that could not be fully described. Not to mention the surprisingly genuine lump he felt in his throat for the little engineer. He needed solidity and reassurance, and he needed someone who would understand all of these things without the need for hippy-dippy words.

He reached for Amy's hand and found comprehension there.

* * *

**"** **According to the Relationship Agreement, on the anniversary of our first date, he must take me to a nice dinner, ask about my day and engage in casual physical contact that a disinterested onlooker might mistake for intimacy."**

If Wolowitz had never gone to space, none of this would have happened. But he'd been so comforted and grateful for Amy's hand that day, and she'd looked at him with so much affection when the live feed ended, that he considered altering the hand-holding section of the Relationship Agreement. It's not that hand-holding was a sexual act. His mother insisted on holding his hand in every parking lot until he was twelve.

Somehow, Date Night had become a thing in his life, and so he broached the topic with Amy over the next one.

"Amy, after considerate thought, I think some amendments to our Relationship Agreement might be entertained. I would ask if you're open to it, but you signed already it, including the clause that outlines the steps for ratification," he explained.

"Oh?" Amy asked as she reached for the salad bowl as they sat at her dining table.

"I think we should add some forms of physical contact."

"Really?" Amy looked up, dropping the salad tongs back to the bowl in the process. "Sheldon, do you mean it?"

He wrinkled his brow in confusion. "Of course I mean it. When do I ever say something I don't mean?" He shook his head. "Hand-holding. Enough to qualify as casual physical contact that a disinterested onlooker might mistake for intimacy. Once a year, on our dating anniversary. It goes without saying there will be stipulations about the cleanliness of our hands, the state of our general health, the absence of perspiration, the duration, and the like."

"Hand-holding?" Amy asked. "Just hand holding?"

If he hadn't had known better, Sheldon would have thought his girlfriend looked disappointed. "Now, don't forget I said just enough that someone might mistake it for something else."

"How could I?" Amy replied, scooping up so much salad so brusquely on her plate that he wondered if she'd decided to forgo the chicken.

"Good. I've already written up the correct pages awaiting your signature and I can have the whole thing rebound tomorrow." That business settled, Sheldon took the chicken leg that looked particularly tasty and he'd been leaving for Amy and her fondness for dark meat.

"Every Date Night."

"What?"

"I want to hold hands on every Date Night."

"You know, the Relationship Agreement Amendment Ratification clause states the boyfriend has two votes and the girlfriend has one and seven-eights a vote. I can veto your suggestion."

Amy stood, glaring down at him, forcing him to sit further back in his chair to see her. "Why don't you try that?"

"Once every quarter?"

"Every time we go to the movies. You're my boyfriend now and I want to parade you around as such, so that everyone can be jealous of my man-catching skills. Like the Venus flytrap of the dating world."

"But we go to the movies at least once a month!"

His girlfriend leaned even closer, and he had to tilt his head back now. "And our anniversary."

Sheldon gulped, surprised at the fear twisting in his gut. Whether it was fear that Amy was going to physically harm him or terror that she might break up with him and never touch his hand again, he did not know.

"And the movies," he agreed with a gulp.

* * *

**"** **Amy, when I look in your eyes and you're looking back in mine, everything feels not quite normal, because I feel stronger and weaker at the same time. I feel excited and, at the same time, terrified. The truth is, I don't know what I feel, except I know what kind of man I want to be."**

It was the first thing that came to his mind. No, that wasn't true. It was the first thing that came pouring from his mouth before Sheldon had time to think of a suitable response. Fortunately, it was one time that speaking before he thought was not as detrimental as his mother always told him it would be.

Later, alone again after having tea with Amy, Sheldon pulled out his _Spider-Man_ DVD and started the movie, even though it was past his bedtime. There was something about this quotation that had tickled his brain since he'd said it. Something wasn't quite right, and not just that he'd said it in first person . . .

When Mary Jane asked Peter Parker if Spider-Man had ever mentioned her, Sheldon leaned in closer to listen to Peter's stumbling reply. All the same words were there, more or less, although in second person as Peter claimed this is what Spider-Man told him. Something about that reassured Sheldon; so he wasn't the first man to use these lines in a less than honest way.

There! He grabbed the remote and rewound just a few seconds. The last sentence, the words his mouth hadn't formed: "It's as if you've reached the unreachable, and you weren't ready for it."

Sheldon stopped the disc, Mary Jane's face frozen on the screen before she could reply. He shifted uncomfortably in his spot.

What would that be like? To reach something that one never expected, to find oneself at the foot of a bridge one never thought they'd have to cross? He looked around the crevices of his mind, at his world as he knew it. Sheldon let out a slow breath of relief; there were no unexpected bridges.

But somewhere in the distance he heard the rushing of water.

* * *

**"** **This insistence on hand-holding is preposterous."**

It _was_ preposterous. Sheldon was an adult, and it wasn't necessary for someone to hold his hand and protect him during the scary scenes at the movies. But during _Men in Black 3_ , it was her hand that was there when Agent's J father died all over again in front of adult Agent J, reopening an old wound. It was her hand that understood and wordlessly squeezed the lump from his throat.

* * *

**"** **The guy who seems like an emotionless robot is you, but your relationship with Amy is causing you to transform into a red-blooded man with sexual desires."**

Unlike everyone else under the age of sixty, Sheldon knew how to use the word literally correctly. And, growing up with Georgie as an older brother, he'd heard a lot of stupid things. When Sheldon said Leonard's comment was literally the stupidest thing he'd ever heard, he knew exactly what he was saying and he meant every word of it.

What frustrated Sheldon the most, though, was that Leonard said it. Leonard knew Sheldon was asexual; he was the one who'd told Penny in the hallway, after all.

But then Sheldon decided to do the magnanimous thing and not bring it up again. Not just because it was so stupid it would physically hurt to repeat those words, but because it was possible Leonard might soon be heartbroken again.

* * *

**"** **I think you're high on paint fumes. And boy, that's a lot of Band-Aids."**

Of course he was intrigued. Amy was a very intriguing woman, and thus anything she did was, by extension, also intriguing to him. After some thought, he decided that since this was the closest he would ever come to seeing his girlfriend's bathing suit area, that it only made sense to add the image to his monthly shower routine. Not that it would change anything.

* * *

**"** **Amy, would you be strong enough to bathe yourself, or do you need my help?"**

Scientific evidence supported that the steam created from very hot water could help to open the bronchial tubes, which could lead to easier breathing when one's chest was congested. There was also some belief that lemon juice or apple cider vinegar could further aid in these goals, although Sheldon felt that was only anecdotal. But he noticed a bottle of citrus-scented bubble bath on the edge of the bathtub, so he added it with good reason. Amy's lack of bath thermometer was disturbing, but he tested the water several times with his elbow; combining that knowledge with the amount of steam on the mirror, he surmised the water was hot enough and called Amy into the bathroom.

He was testing the water once again just to be certain when Sheldon realized Amy had halted just inside the doorway. He called over his shoulders, "Can you undress yourself?"

"Oh - oh," he heard Amy uncharacteristically stutter. "You want me naked?"

Sheldon stood in surprise. "How else are you going take a bath?"

"On, yeah." Amy reached for the edges of her nightgown, bunching it and unbunching it in her hands, but when her lips twisted it occurred to Sheldon what the delay was.

"I forgot." He spun around and covered his eyes with his hands. "I won't peek." He heard the speedier rustle of fabric behind him now. Just because the sight of Amy's naked body held no sexual stimulation for him, he still understood the value of modesty. He could count on one hand the number of people who'd seen his bare feet. Next he heard a splash of water. "Be careful getting in. I notice you don't have any sort of adhesives on the bottom of your bathtub. That's most reckless of you. I'll buy you some."

"Okay, I'm under the water," Amy said, and Sheldon lowered his hands and turned closely.

The bubbles were a good idea, because they covered the entire surface of the water and only his girlfriend's soft creamy shoulders and her naked face were visible. Sheldon licked his lips as he stepped closer. "You're not wearing your glasses."

"I never wear them when I bathe. They get wet."

"Of course." Sheldon knelt down next to her and picked up the clean washcloth he'd left folded on the edge of the bathtub. "Will you pass me the bar of soap?"

Amy nodded and reached for the bar sitting in its little alcove and held it out for him. "Will you wash my chest first?" she asked.

"Your chest? I recommend starting at the top and working one's way down so that the dirty water doesn't run over clean areas of skin."

"But it feels sticky after all that Vick's."

Sheldon lowered his eyebrows. "Which you insisted upon."

"Please, Sheldon."

"Very well. Since you're ill." Amy seemed more excited about the impending cleaning of her chest than Sheldon would have thought necessary, but then she had been requesting more than the maximum usage listed on the Vick's Vapo-Rub package. His acquiescence was greeted with a grin, and Amy leaned back to rest her head against the tiles. The movement caused her chest to rise and Sheldon caught sight of her pink nipples peeking out of the bubbles.

He stared, not because he was sexually aroused, but because it didn't embarrass him or disgust him in the least. Those breasts and those nipples belonged to Amy, and, as such, he found them . . . natural. When Penny dislocated her shoulder in the shower and he'd had to help her dress, he gladly closed his eyes when asked, not just out of chivalry, but because the idea of seeing Penny in any state of undress was discomforting to him. But here, Amy's nudity was as unaffected to Sheldon as his own. As he stretched forward to wash her, he wondered if it would be possible for them to be nude and comfortable together, two people who accepted each other's bodies as they were without the need for any additional fuss about what such nudity may or may not mean. Surely, between the two of them, there wouldn't be any illusions and insecurities about their bodies. Their bodies were merely housing for their brains. Nudity for them wouldn't be sexual, it would just be . . . them.

Washing Amy's chest wasn't strange or fraught with anxiety, either. Accidentally touching Penny's breast had been disturbing. He found it squishy and heavy and a little nauseating. Here, though, he could study the perfect symmetry of Amy's breasts without the least fear that his lunch was going to come back up. They were light and buoyant on the water. Watching her nipples harden even though his hand wasn't anywhere near them was fascinating. He wondered if her breasts would be that apt to stay afloat out of an aquatic situation, if he were ever to touch her nipples would they respond even more . . .

A glance up quickly and he switched his train of thought. Amy's skin was flushed and her breathing seemed to be coming faster and more shallow. "Amy, is the water too hot? I think it might be; I feel a little warm myself."

* * *

**"** **Are you saying you want to spank me?"**

"So, Sheldon," Howard said over the top of the comic books they were all sorting through, "I heard you gave Amy a little punishment the other night."

There was some sort of choking sound next to him, and Sheldon swiveled to look at Raj. "Sorry, something in my throat," he muttered.

Looking back at Howard, Sheldon replied, "Indeed I did. As my mother used to say, I wasn't so angry with what she did, rather that she felt the need to lie to me about it."

"Wait." Leonard looked up. "Are you saying that if Amy asked you to cop a feel using Vick's even though she felt perfectly fine, you'd be okay with that?"

"Hmm," Sheldon tilted his head, giving the idea some thought, "would this be an experiment to discover if the medicinal quality of Vick's Vapo-Rub could improve the oxidation of one's bronchial tubes even when they were already functioning within normal parameters?"

"Um, sure, let's go with that," his roommate answered.

"I suppose, with a linear and compelling hypothesis statement, I'd consider it."

"And the bath?" Raj asked.

Sheldon shook his head. "If she was healthy, she'd be perfectly capable of cleaning the ointment off her own chest when the experiment was finished."

Howard leaned in closer, and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Be honest. What was it like, you know, spanking her? Did you enjoy it?"

"No, of course not." Sheldon shook his head. "As I told Amy herself, it hurt me more than it hurt her. Doling out punishment to someone is no fun, let me tell you."

"Then why do you continue to punish me daily?" Leonard muttered.

"Nothing? You felt nothing?" Raj asked. "You didn't have a flash of doing it again, somewhere else, at another time?"

"No," Sheldon answered honestly and walked away toward another table of comics. He didn't want to give his friends time to ask him about what flashed through his mind during Amy's bath.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Once again, this story would not be possible without the tireless efforts of my dear friend and beta, Melissa. At one point, I posed a question about how to word a, um, technical matter to her and then had to ask "Did you ever think you'd be answering questions about *this* when you agreed to beta?"_ **

**_Also a reminder that I'm on Instagram as aprilinparisfanfic, where I share story teasers and visuals, Shamy love, and general bookish geekiness._ **

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	3. Chapter 3

**"** **Sheldon, I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better. May I offer you a consoling hug?"**

Amy's hugs were just as good as MeeMaw's. He hadn't expected that. Sheldon expected some weak gesture, something flimsy he could shrug off after a few seconds but that still might, as he said, not make things any worse than they already were. But, just like the woman giving it to him, it was strong and sure, the backbone Sheldon so desperately needed at that moment. And, just like that woman, it was free of any infernal chit-chat to undercut her understanding of him. Because she loved him.

MeeMaw, not Amy.

* * *

**"** **What can I say? She enjoys my genitals. I am giving them to her on a nightly basis."**

What had he been thinking? Sheldon dunked his cinnamon stick into the mug of hot apple cider again. What if word got back to Amy and she misinterpreted his statements as interest? That would never do. His gut churned further and Sheldon debated whether to actually drink the cider or whether he should make some hot chocolate instead. Or tea?

He felt the need for all of them and none of them at the same time. But he couldn't just lay sleepless in the dark; getting up and shuffling around the kitchen after midnight was better than that. Sheldon opened first the refrigerator and then a cupboard, scanning every shelf and not finding what he needed to make the spiraling, gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach go away.

And why did Kripke have to act as if doing all those freaky things he'd described was more normal than what Sheldon really was? He seemed to think is was more acceptable to be a sexual deviant than be asexual. Kripke would never understand. Although, Sheldon wasn't entirely sure he understood anymore, either. Sometimes, like when he thought about Amy in the shower, he felt a spark of something new. It was the bath that did it. The slippery porcelain slope of Amy's bathtub had started the surety he always felt about nudity sliding away. Did that mean his asexuality was sliding away, too?

No. He was still asexual. That hadn't changed. The idea of coitus still didn't interest him. But those rare seconds troubled him. No, not seconds. They were just slivers, really, mere cracks in the middle of a second. Ironically, the one person who he knew he could trust to understand him, the one person he could trust to listen to his concerns, was the one person who he had just insulted earlier in the day.

Closing the cabinet door, Sheldon leaned his forehead against it. What, exactly, was the correct hot beverage to cure confusion and guilt?

* * *

**"** **Look, you guys have been going out a long time. She would clearly like to have a physical relationship with you, so what are you doing?"**

"It's a possibility." Until he'd said it aloud, he hadn't quite believed it. Oh, it had been there, a faint ever-present shimmer on the edge of his mind. He would try to look away but it would follow him, like an acephalgic migraine. There had been something, in the past few months, in her eyes, in her voice, in her hand, in her hug. There was coming home to overhear her discussing comic books, discovering her knowledge and conviction of opinion in something he, too, loved. It was those things even more than the bath and the inexplicable fleeting moments of doubt. Amy understood him, on a deep and profound level. He found comfort in her words and deeds.

Maybe, just maybe, he could imagine himself curled up, sleeping, in her hug. He wondered what it would be like to have her breasts touching his bare back, wrapping him in warmth. The other stuff . . . well, he still wasn't too sure he could do something he had no interest in.

* * *

**"** **You know Amy moving in marks a level of intimacy our relationship isn't ready for."**

It was one thing to wonder what someone's breasts felt like or to know that it would not be awkward to be naked with them in the same room, but it was entirely a different matter to actually start doing those things. Sheldon wondered about all sorts of things he didn't want to start doing. He wondered what it would be like to study the Great Barrier Reef up close and _in situ_ for two whole days after seeing _Finding Nemo_ , but that didn't mean he was going to take up scuba diving. A curiosity, yes, but not enough to prompt him to undertake it.

And they'd only been dating for two and half years! What was this, some sort of shotgun common law wedding? No, what he told Penny was correct. He and Amy were not ready to move in together. He wasn't ready to hear her snores through the wall or to pass her in the hallway after a bowel movement.

That night, which should have passed peacefully now that the danger was avoided, Sheldon dreamed of a bridge.

* * *

**"** **In case of emergency, please contact Amy Farrah Fowler."**

He wanted her to know he appreciated how dependable she could be. He wanted her to know he recognized that she would be far superior at dealing with the nuances of his health than anyone else. He wanted her to know he valued her degree in biology, which surely made her the most logical liaison with a medical team. He wanted her to know that if he ever awoke from a coma, he hoped the first person he saw was as intelligent as him.

He wanted her to know that if he ever awoke from a coma, he hoped the first person he saw would be her.

* * *

**"** **Don't worry, I didn't really say that. I find the concept of coitus ridiculous and off-putting."**

"What the hell, Sheldon? **"** With his superhuman hearing, sometimes Sheldon wasn't sure if Penny was already yelling at him from the other side of the door or if she managed to time it perfectly with the door's opening. Nah, she wasn't capable of that much forethought.

"What. The. _Actual_. Hell!" she repeated, standing just inside the door to his apartment.

Sheldon turned from his computer to look at her. "Well, as hell is merely a folkloric tradition composed of poppycock, I don't see how there can be anything actual about it."

"Hey, what's going on?" Leonard asked, coming into the great room behind them. "I heard yelling."

"I think your girlfriend might be suffering from religious hysteria. You should check her for stigmata."

"He told Amy that he found sex disgusting and off-center!" Penny explained, arms waving, looking at Leonard. Then her head swiveled back to study Sheldon. "What do you have to say about that?"

"Well," Sheldon shrugged, "it's not my area of expertise, but if it's off-center I don't see how it would be possible. I doubt I said anything so inaccurate."

"Okay, so maybe those weren't your exact words, but you said something like that to Amy!"

"Whoa, whoa!" Leonard jogged closer to Penny. "I don't think you should get into it with him."

"I told you, you may be afraid to man up and ask your roommate the hard questions, but I'm not." She looked at Sheldon again. "You told us that sex with Amy was a possibility and then you go and tell her it's gross and off kilter."

"Penny . . ." Leonard mumbled.

Sheldon stood up and crossed his arms. "Again, not off kilter. That's how you pull something. And all sorts of things are possibilities that are also silly to look at and sweaty. It's what the entire physical fitness craze is based upon. Coincidentally, another way to pull something."

Penny rolled her eyes. "Did you ever stop to think about what Amy thought when you said that?"

"She probably appreciated my honesty and ability to remember the correct adjective."

His ears were assaulted from a loud buzzing sound from Penny. "Wrong answer! You hurt Amy's feelings."

"Oh," Sheldon waved his hand, "that seems unlikely. Amy knows what I find enjoyable and what I don't."

Leonard asked, "Is Amy really mad?"

"Well, okay, she didn't say she was mad," Penny grumbled. "But why else bring it up and tell me about it? It's girl code for 'my boyfriend is an asshole.'"

"As you can't master Morse code, I seriously doubt you could understand any subtext from Amy," Sheldon protested.

"Oh, like you would? For all you know, she's 100% subtext under all those layers but you'll never try to find out."

"Guys, let's not do this," Leonard muttered.

"And you call yourself a scientist," Penny continued, unabated. "How can you decide if something is not enjoyable if you refuse to even consider trying it?"

"Oh, no. My mother warned me that someday an undesirable person of loose morals would try to convince me to try drugs."

"Sex is not a drug! It doesn't get you high and it's not addictive!"

"Well, it kind of does," Leonard said.

Sheldon took a deep breath. "Have you ever considered sex with a koala bear?"

"What? No." At least his question had the effect of shocking Penny into a lower volume.

"Sheldon?" Leonard asked, his eyebrows especially bushy.

"Do you feel you need to have sex with a koala bear to prove that you're not marsupial-sexual?" Sheldon asked.

"That's gross! And there's no such thing as marsupial-sexual," Penny protested.

"Um, this is getting a little personal . . . and a lot weird."

Ignoring Leonard's interjection, Sheldon continued speaking, "It's the same for me. I don't need to have coitus with Amy or anyone else for that matter to prove anything about my sexual orientation. And whether or not I choose to have coitus with Amy or anyone else in the future, for any reason, is between me and that person."

The couple across from him stared at him, and the quiet in the apartment felt uncomfortable. Gulping, Sheldon realized he'd never done that before: stood up for himself like that, not about his sexuality. It felt good.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon," Penny said softly. "You're right. I just . . . I'm just confused, I guess."

Sheldon nodded. "Apology accepted."

There was another pause, and then he sat back down at his desk. "Nothing else needs to be said."

"Sure, buddy." It was Leonard who replied, and then he added, "Come on, Penny, it's been a long day. And it's not any of our business anyway. Let's go to your place. I'll give you a relaxing foot massage."

"Yeah, okay." Penny let Leonard led her away.

Sheldon waited for the door to shut behind them before he lowered his head. Why couldn't Penny just mind her own business for once? Amy wasn't angry with him; she'd said nothing after his comment, and the rest of Dr. Tuberman's memorial service passed in silence. And how dare Penny question his dedication as a scientist? He was a theoretical physicist, emphasis on theoretical. He just thought up the big ideas, the life-altering hypotheses, leaving the grunt work of experimentation to the grunts like Leonard.

More importantly, didn't she realize her question was insulting? Asexuals couldn't help being asexual anymore that Penny could help being heterosexual. It wasn't like deciding whether or not to eat Brussels sprouts.

Sheldon rubbed his forehead. But Penny wasn't really the problem; everything would be fine between them by tomorrow, and he knew she was truly contrite for her impulsive words. The real problem was that Penny had struck a nerve different than the one he let her think she hit. He hid behind asexuality with her, to make a point, yes, but also because it was easy.

Ever since he'd verbalized coitus with Amy was a possibility, he'd been terrified of considering it further. Amy's image still arrived on schedule during his monthly masturbation ritual and it still occasionally shimmered unbidden on the edge of his consciousness, but that was it. Asexuals could, and did, engage in coitus for a variety of reasons that had nothing to do with sexual desire. He just needed to think about that, the realities of it.

He stood and went to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. Stretching out on the bed, Sheldon took a deep breath and looked at ceiling. He would think about it. He would approach it with scientific curiosity. He would apply as much studious consideration to this as to the quandaries of string theory.

First, they would be naked. Naked was fine. He closed his eyes and visualized Amy naked. The parts previously covered by bath bubbles or a towel were a bit fuzzy, but he made do. He would be naked, too. In the same room, even. Okay, naked was good, just as he'd imagined. He and Amy: clean, dry, natural and together. He mentally increased the temperature in the room by four degrees to avoid virtual goose bumps. He could do this.

Imaginary Sheldon, apparently braver than real Sheldon, bent down to kiss imaginary Amy on the lips. He did it just like she'd kissed him before, something he'd experienced and knew how it would feel. Then, in his mind, he reached out and cupped her breast as he'd once imagined doing. It felt -

Sheldon sat up sharply. The only breast he'd ever held, and even then by accident, was Penny's. Nope, he couldn't imagine it like that. That was the very definition of off-putting. And he hadn't even gotten to any bodily fluids yet.

Shaking his head, he reached for his phone on the bedside table. He typed out a text for Amy: _At your earliest convenience, we should schedule a meeting to discuss any future coitus or the lack thereof._

Before he could press send, he wondered if Penny was correct, and Amy was upset by his comment at the memorial service. Or what if Penny was incorrect, as he first presumed, and Amy wasn't upset in the least? Why would he go making her angry with unnecessary negativity? Perhaps instead he should be factual. He erased his previous sentence and typed: _At your earliest convenience, will you please send me a sensory description of your breast? Weight, heft, etc. A comparison to an object already in my possession would be most useful._

Then, after a pause, he added: _I need it for when I imagine you naked._

He stopped. Wait a minute, was this sexting? His lip curled in distaste. And what if Amy leapt to conclusions and thought he was sexting? That was the last thing he needed. Sheldon erased the whole thing again. Maybe, he should send something vague but complimentary just in case Amy was hurt. _Amy, I know I've never told you this before but not a day goes by that I don't think it: the minimal amount of good bacteria on your skin is compatible with mine._

Skin? Did that make it obvious that he was thinking about them naked together? He backspaced once more.

_Amy, I'm asexual. I have no innate sexual drive._

He stared at the words, and then closed his eyes with deep sigh. His shoulders sagged as he added more words. Penny wasn't the only one that was confused.

_Except for an aggregate of 12 seconds lately._

He mentally typed: _But that doesn't mean I don't wish I could be the man you want me to be._

Sheldon shook his head and cleared the screen again before putting his phone in his pocket and returning to his desk. No, it was best not to say anything to Amy about the matter yet. Maybe someday, in the distant future, when he felt certain. When he could bring it up on his own terms.

* * *

**"** **Sheldon, are we ever going to have an intimate relationship?"**

"Hooot . . . "

Sheldon left the die to rest on the hardback book and studied his girlfriend's face. He'd never seen her look like this before, with her pupils slightly dilated, her skin softly blushed, and was that even a little glistening of perspiration along her hairline? He didn't know whether to be more flummoxed by what had just happened or by how these minor changes made Amy more attractive.

"Sheldon?" Amy whispered. Her green eyes bored into his. "Sheldon . . . I'm sorry. I know you said this is an uncomfortable topic but . . . I deserve to know. Why can't you do that with me?"

"I just did."

Amy winced. "No, not with orcs and dice. For real. I know you said this is an extremely intimate relationship for you, and I'm honored to share that with you, but . . . " She looked down. Did her lip just tremble a little bit? "I mean, it's obvious to me now that you know how."

Sheldon pulled his head back. "Did you really think I didn't know how sexual intercourse occurred?"

"I don't know." She shrugged, still looking at her lap. "Maybe. A little. I needed an explanation." She looked back up.

His brow furrowed. "I just thought, that because you're a demisexual, we needed a much lengthier courtship before you even contemplated -"

"Demisexual?" The line he knew well appeared behind the bridge of her glasses.

Oh, maybe she didn't know the term. It seemed unlikely, given her career in biology and general intelligence, but it wasn't a common term. "A demisexual is a person who does not experience sexual attraction unless they form a strong emotional connection with someone based on other non-physical factors first. Because of that, they feel sexual desire toward a much smaller pool of potential sexual partners than an average person."

"I know what it means, Sheldon. But I'm not a demisexual. At least, I don't think so. I experience what I imagine is an average amount of sexual attraction. I have a normal sex drive."

"What?" Sheldon picked up the die and squeezed it tightly, wishing the biting edges would cause enough pain to make that pronouncement go away. "But we've been in this relationship three years now, and we've never - you've never - I've never -"

"We've never been intimate because you never seemed interested. Quite the opposite, actually. But I told you, I am interested. Very much so. I thought it was obvious."

"I thought . . ." Sheldon left it hanging. How had he been so wrong, so mistaken, for so long? Now that he looked back, the clues had been there, all along. Even Penny had said it once. A little voice whispered to him _because you wanted to be_.

"Are you interested, Sheldon?" Amy pressed him, her voice soft but his heart raced even faster than it had a few minutes ago, during that game.

"I'm - I'm not demisexual, either, Amy."

"Then what are you?"

Sheldon licked his lips. So much for doing this on his own terms. "In the past, when I've bothered to think about coitus, which is usually only because someone else brought it up, I have considered myself asexual."

There was a long pause, and then Amy nodded slowly, lowering her head. Her silence and calm worried him more than her accusations when she first fled to his bedroom earlier had. Somehow, he felt he could endure a thousand lashes from her tongue more than her simple acceptance. And it was that guilt that frightened him even more.

"But, as I'm sure you know, it doesn't mean I'm incapable of the act," he added. "I've thought about engaging in coitus, contemplated whether . . . "

She looked up, her eyes weary. "What do you think about it? You said you haven't ruled it out."

"I haven't. But I don't know. It seems so . . . messy."

"So you find the idea of sex repulsive? Is it me? Am I not attractive enough? Is it my - my body?" Her voice broke over the last few words.

"No!" He waved a hand. "I'm able to discern attractiveness, Amy and your appearance is certainly pleasing to the eye. My eyes." She blushed slightly as Sheldon took a deep breath. "It's just . . . It's hard to explain. I'm used to being certain of things, especially things about myself, and . . . and . . . I don't find it repulsive, really. Messy, yes, but so are other things I can enjoy as long as I know there'll be a good shower afterwards. But it just doesn't . . . interest me. I don't long for the experience, although I sometimes try to imagine what it might be like . . . with you." Twice since his first attempt the evening Penny had yelled at him, Sheldon had tried to imagine it. Each time, he got further, and the last time he'd mentally cupped her breast and felt her nipple harden beneath his thumb. He added, blushing himself, "I'm curious about . . . your reactions." But he also now understood that maybe that wasn't enough.

"I'm sorry," he continued after a pause. "I'm sure of many things, but not whether or not I can have coitus with you. If - if you don't want to be my girlfriend anymore, I understand. I'll even revoke the clause about written termination and the waiting period." Unable to look at her anymore, especially once her lower lip started to quiver in ernest, Sheldon angled away from her and tried to study the die in his hand.

There was another long stretch of silence, and Sheldon imagined Amy with tears on her face, gathering herself to both confirm she wanted released from their relationship and to walk out the door and face their friends. He squeezed his eyes shut as he found the flood of emotions overwhelming. He didn't want it to end like this; he didn't want it to end at all. And he genuinely thought it never would, although now he saw that was self-delusion. The truth struck him hard in that moment. Amy could leave him at any time and find physical intimacy with another without forming a bond with that person. With a great number of persons. She found other men sexually desirable without knowing them at all. Like that buffoon, Zach. What hope did he have?

"Before I decide, can I ask you something?"

Turning back to her in surprise, Sheldon nodded. She wasn't crying, although she'd gone pale, all of that rosy blush gone, and her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

"Why play the game with me? Why . . . act it all out?" Amy waved her hand over the discarded book as her voice shook.

"I wanted to try for you, to prove I was trying for you. And it's further than I've gotten before, thinking about it on my own."

"But you didn't enjoy it?"

"I didn't _not_ enjoy it. Just please don't ever tell my mother I know all those words." He licked his lips. "I enjoyed making you happy. I enjoyed that very much."

Amy reached out and touched the top of the book, brushing her hand down the cover, and that act felt just as intimate as any of the words they had uttered, both the tumbling and embarrassing words of physical love or the serious and heartbreaking words that came after.

"This game was a sacrifice, then, for you? A sacrifice of what you wanted or being certain of your own desires? A sacrifice you made for my happiness?"

"Yes," he admitted with a gulp.

"And you haven't ruled it out? You're still considering your sexual . . . situation?" Her hand brushed down the book again.

"Yes." He paused. "Some asexuals have coitus with non-asexual partners, Amy. It's just that I never thought I'd have to decide. I never met anyone else before who made me consider it."

"I appreciate your honesty. I wish you could have felt like you could have told me before." As his gut spiraled in shame, Amy added, still looking down at the book, "But I understand how difficult this must be for you, and I am honored that you're putting so much effort into yourself for me."

She pulled her hand back and looked back at him. "Then I will sacrifice the time for you to decide. I don't want to break up with you." Before he could reply, she stood and stepped closer to him, bending down to kiss him softly on the cheek. "Thank you, Sheldon."

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	4. Chapter 4

**"** **There's kissing in Star Trek, smarty-pants."**

And not just a little bit, either. Kirk and Riker never met a woman or an alien they didn't want to kiss. McCoy kissed, Picard kissed, Worf kissed Deanna and then later Dax. Sisko kissed, Tucker kissed, Janeway and Chekotay should have kissed so everyone could just stop talking about it. Odo literally melted in despair for want of kissing Kera. Dr. Crusher even had sex with a space ghost.

Except for Spock and Data, those pillars of rational thought in an over-heated universe, Sheldon's most beloved space franchise was practically pornography.

Except . . .

Every seven years, Spock went through Pon farr when his Vulcan blood boiled with so much sexual desire that he either needed to mate or he would go insane. Always a fan of both a strict schedule and prime numbers, younger Sheldon had considered whether or not he'd be willing to undergo Pon farr in order to live the remainder of his life without having to worry about his sexuality or what anyone else thought of it. But then, before he was sure of his decision, _Voyager_ dropped the bombshell that Vulcans did, in fact, willingly mate outside of the confines of Pon farr.

That left only Commander Data as an asexual role model. His android genitals, too, were fully functional, and he'd been intimate with Tasha Yar but only at her request. Never once did he experience sexual desire, and never once did anyone expect him to do so. Because Data didn't have emotions. No matter what the holopicture of Tasha he kept among his prized possessions may have implied.

Sheldon tried not to think about any possible correlation when he added Amy's picture to his screen saver.

* * *

**"** **My point is, we're a couple, and I like you for who you are, quirks and all."**

And, boy, did she have a lot of them.

But sometimes when he least expected it, like chatting with some friendly Sri Lankians on a city bus, Sheldon thought back to that day in his bedroom. Not the game they'd played, to which he never gave another thought, but rather to the conversation that followed. Although he knew asexuality wasn't an abnormality, one could argue it constituted a quirk far larger than any of hers. He remembered how she had sat, so small and vulnerable, and how she thanked him before she left.

The structure of their boyfriend-girlfriend relationship had been spelled out in The Relationship Agreement, but Sheldon now understood that was a blueprint, the plan from which they would build. Amy's kindness and understanding that day in his bedroom had been the glue holding the whole thing together. He'd known and proclaimed they were in an official relationship since she'd signed her name, but it was that evening that made them a couple.

Sheldon liked Amy just the way she was. More importantly, Amy still liked him, despite the way he was.

* * *

**"** **Ain't she great?"**

"Oh, Lordy, what have I done?" Sheldon mumbled through his drunken haze into the edge of the toilet, the white porcelain cool against his cheek. It was a two-fold question. Why had he indulged in the alcohol that made it necessary for him to lean his face against an object that was also used for defecation? And why, oh why, had he smacked Amy's posterior like that?

And this time it was not a punishment earned. This time it was the punctuation mark to a declaration of Amy's value. To him.

Alcohol had lowered his inhibitions and allowed the truth to come rushing over the edge. Amy was great. Sheldon knew she was great. After the lamb and mutton episode, Amy knew that Sheldon knew she was great. But that didn't mean that Sheldon wanted everyone else to know that he knew.

Now, in the cold and too-bright Iight of the bathroom floor, Sheldon wondered if there was any chance that his friends would forget what they'd seen and never bring it up. Of course there wasn't.

* * *

**"** **Oh, everything is just sex with you isn't it?"**

It was just like Amy! Always thinking about sex, even when she didn't want to be thinking about. Always considering coitus, even when she had other scientific work to complete. Always worrying about intimacy, even when she should be working out how she was so stupid to have mistakenly discovered a false element in the first place.

Oh.

* * *

**"** **Let's see. What's next? Oh, kissing's romantic."**

Infernal woman! Why couldn't she be happy with the status quo? Why couldn't Amy understand that agreeing to travel several hours away for a cheesy holiday, when he clearly had no interest in the trip himself, was a sacrifice? Yet another sacrifice he made for her! And her silly notions of what romance was!

There was nothing inherently romantic about touching his lips to hers. She'd done it before. It was just skin pressed against skin, like when someone sat down too close on the bus. Very well, that wasn't fair. Amy wasn't some unwashed stranger from whom he'd hustle to get away.

But then everything changed.

This kiss was different than any kiss he'd ever experienced in his life. This kiss was a release, just like the steam rolling from the engine. There was the slight scratch from her wool cardigan, the one she'd knit herself. There was the swaying of the train car and the clickity clack as it traveled on the rails, the historic car she'd booked because of his love of trains. There was the warmth of her hips as he pulled her closer. There was the taste of chocolate, still upon her lips. There was the pounding of his heart, deep and throbbing within his chest.

So, this was romance. Trusting someone enough to touch his lips to hers. Pressing his skin against hers and holding it because he knew he could trust her not to take advantage of him, of the situation, to demand more than he was able and willing to give. Asking her to join him because he couldn't imagine walking away from her.

This was romance. This was trust. With his infernal woman.

* * *

**"** **Amy's lips tasted like the brownie we had for dessert."**

The knock on the door was accompanied by Amy's soft voice. "Sheldon? Are you awake? Can I come in?"

Of course he was awake. He was in a strange bed in a strange room in a strange bed and breakfast. Sheldon pushed himself upright, turned on the bedside lamp, and called back, "Yes."

It wasn't until the door that adjoined his room to Amy's swung open that he understood he should have clarified which question he was answering. She was wearing a flannel nightgown covered by the complimentary white robe.

"But girls aren't allowed in my room," he protested, too late.

"And yet, here I am." But she stopped short of shutting the door behind her. "I came to talk but we could do it my room."

"I'm not allowed in a girl's room, either. Plus your room is closer to the claw foot bathtub."

Amy looked around his room and turned back with frown. "Can I sit on the bed? There's no chair in here. Your room is smaller than mine."

Boy, you kiss a girl on a train and then she tries to take over everything! "What makes you think girls would be allowed on my bed if they're not allowed in my room?"

His girlfriend gave out a rattled sigh, and Sheldon knew that was a bad sign. "Just to talk?" he clarified.

"Just to talk."

He slid over under the covers, to the furthest side of the bed and patted the top of the comforter. "You stay over the blankets, I'll stay under."

"Fine." Amy shuffled closer and sat on the opposite side. She didn't pull herself into the bed like Sheldon but instead sat facing him, tucking her legs under her. "I came to talk about the kiss."

"What about it?" Sheldon asked, genuinely perplexed. He had lips and they had touched her lips in a manner commonly considered romantic. And yet . . . there was a German word, lippenhaftung, that meant the lingering sensation of a first kiss. Although he normally admired German precision, he had once scoffed that they'd gotten so carried away that they started making things up. But he felt it when his lips touched hers, and he felt it still. It may not have technically been their first kiss, but the tingle said otherwise.

"I wonder if - if you did it in attempt to accelerate things between us. If maybe you've, um, reconsidered your stance on sexual intimacy and that was the first step. I'm not trying to change your orientation - I couldn't do that, anyway - but it's just that . . . you said you were thinking about it." Even though her voice was calm and strong, Amy looked down at her lap after she spoke. She seemed hesitant about his reply.

It was probably not the best time to tell her he hadn't planned on kissing her tonight or anytime at all, that he'd tried repeatedly to avoid thinking about their last conversation on the topic. On another bed. Interesting. But he had nothing else to say to her that wouldn't be a lie. It was his turn to look down and be nervous. "I didn't plan the kiss," he admitted. Then he added, "Not like that."

She looked up. "Because you were angry?"

What was with all the probing questions! But this one he could answer honestly, by leaving things unsaid. "I never wanted to kiss you because I was angry."

"But did you enjoy it?"

Sheldon paused before answering, not because he didn't know the answer, but rather to give him time to choose his words. The truth was he was ambivalent to act itself; it neither disgusted him nor excited him. But it left a rattle in his chest and prickling in his brain and lippenhaftung upon his lips . . .

"I . . . didn't . . . not like it," he parsed, fearful of the new sensations, fearful of giving too much away.

It must have been the wrong thing to say because Amy's face fell. "But! -" he spoke quickly, his words tripping over themselves "- I liked afterwards: the way you looked at me, how your eyes were bright and your voice . . . I liked how happy you looked. I wonder how it would be different if you knew it was going to happen, if I hadn't surprised you; that was a mistake. If you were prepared, you might have been more participatory, and it might have been different." Left unsaid was perhaps that he, also, might like kissing better if he'd planned it in advance.

He could tell that the moment was rescued by the way Amy drew her breath in. "Would you like to find out?"

Well, he hadn't expected that. It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her this was exactly why his mother had told him no girls except those to which he were related were allowed in his bedroom. But, overcome with curiosity, he nodded.

It was she who leaned toward him this time, although he met her advance, wanting all things to be equal. This time, Amy's lips tasted like toothpaste, minty and fresh. But they were just as soft as he remembered from the end of the kiss on the train, not like the beginning when they were hard and set. Her favorite lip gloss must have been of good quality, because they were smooth without any obvious dry flakes. No doubt trying to balance herself, her hand came up to rest on his bicep, and he didn't mind that in the least. It was a chaste touch that made the whole thing feel like a joint venture. Which was exactly what he wanted.

Once again, it was though they pulled back together, and Amy's eyes _were_ even brighter than they were on the train, and her cheeks _were_ even more flushed. This time, instead of shock, a little smile toyed with the edges of her lips as her eyes met his.

"Like that," he said. Amy's smile broadened into a full grin and he couldn't help but smile back. She was so very happy, just as he hoped.

"Could we - would you consider . . . can we do it on a regular basis?" Amy asked.

He gulped. "No tongues?"

Amy's eyebrows went up. "No tongues for now."

"I'm going to need a specific timetable."

"Well, I'd like a specific timetable for intimacy, too, but -" Amy stopped herself, her eyes growing big. Her hand shot up to cover her mouth. "Oh! I shouldn't have said it. Not that way. I promised to be patient. But, honestly, Sheldon, I was hoping the kiss today meant that you'd decided you could be intimate with me sometime."

It was clear she thought he'd be angry, but he actually felt sad. Why had he spent all the months since their role-playing game doing anything possible to avoid thinking about intimacy, albeit unsuccessfully? He owed her that. She deserved his consideration, at least. "I still haven't decided if I can do it," he admitted, shame spiraling tightly in his gut.

"Oh." Amy's head hung low.

Sheldon reached for her hand, an unconscious movement. But once he felt her palm against his, he realized how much he did that now. Not only at the movies and not with complaint. The truth was he enjoyed holding Amy's hand, a reminder of her presence in his life, a comfort that someone was on his side. "Can we revisit the topic in six months? I'll have an answer for you then. You know I perform better under a deadline."

"You promise?" Amy looked up at him.

"I promise." He licked his lips. "Until then . . . one kiss per date night? No tongues."

If he liked the afterward of the kiss, the afterward of his words astonished him. Amy gave a trill of happiness and threw herself against him, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders.

* * *

**"** **No. You've opened my eyes to the truth. Amy has made me a more affectionate, open-minded person. And that stops now."**

One kiss per date night? What had he been thinking? It was a good thing Leonard pointed out that Sheldon had weakened in Amy's presence and allowed her to unduly influence him.

True, kissing her was not repulsive. But she should have respected him and his sexuality enough to accept that when he said he was asexual, he meant it.

True, he had told her that maybe he was trying to find a way to balance his asexuality with performing the act of coitus, that he wasn't sure. But if he wasn't asexual, what else would he be? He was not interested in physical intimacy with her or anyone, it held no intrinsic appeal to him.

True, it was not she who had offered such a frequent kissing schedule. True, Amy had sat calmly on his bed and only accepted what he freely gave. That's why he was doing her the favor of ending it now, of setting her free and letting her go find someone else with whom to crave coitus.

True, kissing Amy was nice. It was nice to see her happy. It was nice to make her happy in this one way, when he still doubted he could do it in any larger, more expressive way. But he should not have to make her happy, it was not in his job description.

True, making Amy happy had an oddly reflective outcome. Her smile radiated upon him until his lips, too, turned up. True, he discovered the feel of her body and her lips so close to him could remedy most bad days.

True, Amy was honest with him to a fault. She cared about his well-being and did not like seeing him manipulated, and she was not afraid to put their relationship before others by telling him when he was being used. She helped him use his intelligence to uncover his friend's nefarious plan.

True, with Amy by his side he felt stronger and braver. He stood up to Leonard and Penny like the independent man that he was.

True, their relationship had never been stronger. He could think for himself, thank you very much, and he knew whether or not it was change that had brought him to the point that he was going to kiss his girlfriend on the lips every second Thursday of the month for the rest of his life. Unless there were five Thursdays in a month, in which case he would kiss her on the third Thursday of the month.

* * *

**"** **Uh, it's date night. Aren't you forgetting something?"**

Kissing Amy _was_ nice. Planned, scheduled kisses were nicer than the train. Putting his hands on her hips and holding her pressed against him, was nice, too, like an extra-close hug. Not spectacular or any of the other superlative adjectives Amy no doubt used when telling her version of events to her girlfriends, but it was a pleasant few seconds to share with the intelligent woman he enjoyed having in his life, by his side.

Still, though, it wasn't the act itself that he liked best. That remained the afterward, when his chest felt fuller and his brain buzzed. When Amy would smile softly or sometimes even blush and stammer slightly over her goodbyes because she was so happy. It was really so easy to make her happy; why hadn't he done this little thing before?

It was the afterward he anticipated the most.

* * *

**"** **Everything will fall into place once you commit to her."**

He didn't have any use for some mystical mumbo jumbo. And he didn't have any time for, it either. His professional life, his life's accomplishments and goals, was crumbling around him.

Commitment, in whatever vague form the psychic implied, would not, in fact, put everything back together again. Coitus with Amy would not solve the mysteries of the universe. Whatever her nether regions would feel like, Sheldon was certain it would not be dark matter. Loving Amy would not dismantle the quandaries of physics. He didn't have time to contemplate it.

Why was he even contemplating it now, pacing back and forth from his white board to his desk, when he was meant to thinking of alternatives to string theory? He hadn't a moment to lose, with Kripke no doubt already sniffing out and sucking up to those who could give him a new, if worthless, field of study.

This was all Penny's fault. No one was better at procrastinating than her. Even someone as unlearned as she could have her Masters by now if only she'd applied herself. Why had he agreed to waste all the hours of a perfectly good Thursday evening with her?

A psychic! What a bunch of baloney. No, a bunch of baloney smeared with malarkey and sandwiched between two pieces of flimflam. A waste of time _and_ money.

Commitment-shitment! What would a psychic know about commitment? It didn't take years of work and time and effort and sacrifice to set in a perfumed room and spout off silly lies. There were no breakthroughs to be found enveloped by all those red and purple satins drapes unless it was how to redecorate one's bordello. True commitment was giving one's life to science, dedicating all one's time to carving out a path to the Nobel Prize.

He stopped pacing just long enough to scribble a sequence of numbers on his whiteboard. Like that! That was commitment, keeping part of his brain separate to work on his science at all times. There was always a compartment of his brain chugging away at it. There was no need for everything to fall into place because everything important already had a place. Just like there were compartments for eating and sleeping and other physical needs. And other valuable uses of his time, like comic books. And Amy.

Sheldon stopped cold. Wait, how did that happen? When did that happen? He shrugged. It didn't matter, because it only further proved his point. He didn't have to commit anything to Amy because she had already managed to carve out her own corner.

* * *

**"** **How many of those women did you think would become your perfect companion?"**

In Doctor Who, the Doctor traveled with a female companion. A platonic companion, no funny business. There was no sex in Doctor Who, at least not between the Doctor and his companions.

The companion was there to assist him, to aid in the running and upkeep of the TARDIS. The companion fetched tools and input data. She was the helpmeet who made things run smoothly.

The companion often plotted the next course, deciding where to go next. As she saw it, there were broader horizons and brighter futures. She was also the compass that always remembered the way back home.

The companion was there to join him on adventures. The companion's face lit with joy and astonishment at the vastness of their shared experiences. She was the optimist who taught him how to embrace life.

The companion was there to remind him of reality, to remind him of gravity in every situation. She grounded him, a tether when his ideas proved too outlandish. She was the pragmatist that kept him safe.

The companion fought at his side against Daleks and other unimaginable horrors. Her faith in his knowledge and wisdom were unshakable. She was the most ferocious weapon he'd ever have.

The companion fought against him, a brave adversary when she thought he was wrong. No one fought like her, a foil to sharpen and hone his arguments, yet always noble when the only option was to concede victory to her. She was the most ferocious enemy he'd ever have.

The companion loved The Doctor, each one in her own unique way. Even red-haired Amy Pond, also madly in love with Rory, loved him. Each companion displayed a facet of love, a sparkle and ripple of loyalty that traveled through space and time.

The companion never had sex with The Doctor. It just wasn't done. And she didn't always seem to want to engage in such an activity, her love being more scholarly. Sometimes, though, her face pursed in silent sorrow, and her eyes gazed with longing at something she could not have. It was those companions that always left The Doctor in the end.

Sheldon tried not to dwell on it.

* * *

**"** **Oh, sure, and while we're at it, why don't we get engaged, too? Why don't we get a little house, start a family? Enjoy our sunset years together? Do you hear yourself, woman?"**

Why, why why? Sheldon slumped into his seat on the bus. Why had he said those things to Amy? For it was he, not she, that painted that picture of a future they could share together. Why had he put those ideas into her head, fanned the flames of her desire?

Perhaps she already had those ideas, even without his verbal diarrhea. Amy probably thought about them all the time, plotting every detail ever since that kiss on the train. It was Amy who probably worried over the implications, wondering how a marriage would work if he would only kiss her once a week or how they would conceive children if he wasn't willing to progress beyond a kiss.

Amy probably couldn't stop worrying about it lately.

* * *

**"** **The university is making me do string theory and my girlfriend loves me so much she wants to live with me."**

Sheldon hung his head further into his hands as he sat on the edge of his bed. He knew Amy loved him. He had for a few months now. Not because she said so. Rather, because she didn't.

Her silence spoke louder than any words. It laced though her soft understanding and her patience. Yes, she lied to him that one evening to spend time away from him, but the rarity of her selfish action only highlighted how unselfish she was. She calmly waited, taking his kisses as crumbs instead of bread. She didn't even ask for the bread anymore, so great was her love for him, because she knew the very notion of bread made the colon of his mind cramp.

She didn't say it because she was afraid of how he'd respond. She feared that he wouldn't reply in kind. That he didn't feel in kind.

Love, the type of love Amy had for him, implied more. It implied eventual coitus. It was a simple thing to tell Penny it was a possibility and to tell Amy he hadn't ruled it out, but it was another to make it a reality. And why had he ever told Amy that he'd give a decision in six months? That time was half-way gone now, and he hadn't devoted any time to it. Not really.

Sheldon considered his excuses: that his professional life had been completely upended, that his roommate situation would potentially change, that his childhood idol had died, that his sanctuary of ink and heroes was destroyed.

He slid down onto the floor, pulling his legs up to his chest and leaned his head back against the comforter. If he'd never kissed her, would any of this have happened? If he'd never agreed to hold her hand? If he'd never asked her to be his girlfriend? If he'd never offered to buy her tepid water?

But that line of thought didn't help at all. Not that he could think here, surrounded by the idiots that called themselves his friends, the pressures about his job, the weight - the unbearable weight! - of Amy's patience.

He couldn't think here at all.

* * *

**"** **Leonard, I am overwhelmed. Everything is changing and it's simply too much. I need to get away and think."**

His brain was tied in knots. Wrapped and coiled and tangled up, pulled tight and fast by all those suddenly loose strings from an unlikely theory. Sheldon tried, day after day, night after night, to tease them apart, to find the beginning, go back again, and pull himself free. But his own mind had turned against him and the harder he struggled to free himself, the tighter it became around him, like a boa constrictor.

His career was in shambles and yet he was forbidden to walk away and start fresh. The comic book store, a refuge when he most needed distraction, was only a burned and scarred shell. Leonard and Penny were engaged, not only for marriage, but in a plan to upend his living situation as he knew it. As he preferred it. As he needed it. Even Professor Proton was dead, and his spirit guide, someone wise to lead him through the briars of his mind, had not reappeared.

In the center of this web, pulsing blue and bright, was Amy.

Sheldon could not reach her through the brambles even as he was uncertain if reaching her would help. It was possible that she would aid him, as she so often had in the past, but it was equally possible that she was the source of this vortex's power.

He needed to go away, away from Amy and everything else, to think. To decide. If he could solve the conundrum of his relationship with Amy, of his own sexuality, he somehow knew he could solve everything else. Amy was the key to his happiness, to his tranquility. He didn't need some lying so-called psychic to tell him that.

A promise had been given, six months in which he'd make a decision. That decision was vital to keeping Amy. Keeping Amy was vital to solving his other problems. He would leave behind the noise and static and the distractions. He would travel down each of those brambles just as he traveled down a rail line, he would cross-cross the nation while he untied the knots, he'd pull the confusion and the unknowns away, leaving them behind him just as he'd leave behind every station he passed. A train had brought him to this crisis and a train would lead him out.

Maybe out there, in the vast country, he'd find the answers. He'd find himself. The himself who knew exactly who he was.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_As always, thank you for all your_ _reveiws!_ **


	5. Chapter 5

**"** **Allow me to explain. Forty-five days ago, I embarked on a railroad journey of healing."**

The scientific method. A commonly accepted sequence of steps to arrive at the proper conclusion. It had never failed Sheldon before, and he was certain it wouldn't fail him this time, either.

1\. Ask a question/define the problem based on observation.

What was the cause of the scratching in the center of his mind for months? Why was it getting stronger? How had it led to feelings so overwhelming that he was forced to try to leave them, and the scratching, behind?

2\. Construct a hypothesis.

He had a brain parasite causing a neurological breakdown.

3\. Experiment by observing closely and recording data.

This was where his eidetic memory really came in handy. On the train, crossing the country, he couldn't perform experiments in his daily life, which would have been ideal. But fortunately he could sit back and recall past events and how the scratching in the center of his brain responded to them.

How had the organism gotten into his brain? Tainted food or water? And yet he'd had no other symptoms of such a contamination, no memories of nausea, other gastrointestinal upset, or unexplained weight loss. It could be vector-transmission, but he had no memory of any insect bites, either.

At first, it was easy to believe the parasite was causing him harm. If it hadn't been, he would be at home in his apartment, not on a train thousands of miles away trying to outrun it. (Although, that too, was problematic; how could he outrun an organism already living in his own head?)

But Sheldon couldn't deny that many of his memories in which he felt the strange new sensation had been . . . pleasant. More of a buzzing instead of a scratching. Sometimes it was slight, the faint vibrations that seemed to accompany Amy's smile. (But no one else's smile, and he considered everyone he knew.) Sometimes it was so strong that he felt it rumbling through, not just his brain, but also his chest, causing a tightness and ache that almost took his breath away. Such as when Amy had stayed all evening to discuss a possible new field of study, pulling a second glass of wine away from him. He felt it acutely with every stumbling step he took with her toward the bedroom, even in his clumsy reactions as she helped him undress for bed. (And, yet, Leonard had helped him undress for bed when he was inebriated before, and he'd never had the same experience.)

Sheldon rifled through his memories and started a new line graph, matching dates to the feeling in his brain. It definitely spiked when Amy was present or even when he was anticipating time to be spent with her. And his heart rate accelerated when he kissed her. Did he have a cardiac parasite, too, in addition some neurological hanger-on?

And why Amy, why in her presence? Was the parasite modifying its host's behavior in order to increase transmission? In other words, was it trying to find a way into Amy's brain and possibly her chest cavity, too? Sheldon's first reaction to that thought was that he should call Amy and warn her immediately so that she could identity the earliest symptoms. Poor Amy. He cared too much for her to want her to go through the same -

Sheldon stopped and put his phone down when the scratching suddenly started again. How was it that concern for Amy's well-being increased his symptoms? That didn't match with any parasite's behavior that he knew of.

He shook his head and went back to what he knew about parasites and typical ways in which they attempted to cause harm. It wasn't an idiobiont parasite because he wasn't paralyzed. It certainly wasn't parasitic castration, he thought smugly, thinking of his genitalia in the shower or in the mornings. He ruled out kleptoparasitism because the only person stealing his food was Penny.

State after state passed by the window. Sheldon rode over snowy mountain peaks and through hot deserts and plain states so flat he could see for miles and the deep, verdant greens of forests. He filled a notebook with page after page of equations and diagrams and lists. He scribbled and sighed and used science to tug at the brambles and the vines, slowly at first and then ever more eager to reach the glowing center of his predicament. Of his mind.

4\. Analyze data results and form a conclusion.

He did not have a parasite because there were not enough commonalities between his symptoms and the known symptoms of being a parasitic host. In addition, there was no detectable mode of transmission.

5\. Hypothesis is . . . false?

Sheldon stared down at his notebook. _False?_ How was that possible?

6\. Troubleshoot procedure. Carefully check all steps.

His perused every page of the now full notebook, looking for any small error. But his steps were accurate, he was certain. It was the conclusion that was incorrect.

7\. Experimental data becomes background research. Form a new hypothesis and experiment again.

Once more, Sheldon skimmed the pages he'd filled. This new form of observation seemed to create a separate, unexpected pattern. But he wouldn't be a scientist if he didn't follow where the data led him. At the next station, he bought a fresh notebook. Back on the train, he turned to the first page and took a deep breath. He wrote a new hypothesis carefully across the top.

* * *

**"** **Where didn't I go? I went to New York, Chicago, Atlanta, Denver, Seattle."**

Another leg of the journey, another notebook, another hypothesis.

This time, though, the data came pouring out of his memory so fast and fully formed that there wasn't enough time for him to graph it all as he would have liked. A memory would flare, and Sheldon's chest would ache as he tried to jot down the little touch or the funny phrase or the sympathetic ear. All the times she stood by him, supported him, challenged him, engaged him, assisted him, laughed with him. Her words and her silence were perfection in equal measure.

And it wasn't just about Amy's role in those memories, how her action made him feel. Sheldon found he, too, had changed. He worried about her, not just that she would catch a parasite but also on the nights that she worked late and he worried about her safety and health. Mostly he missed her. He found it enjoyable to do little things for her, even something as simple as making her the perfect mug of tea. Maybe biology was an inferior science, but that didn't seem to lessen his pride and happiness for her when she got a new article published or reached a milestone in her study.

"Ergo . . . " he wrote on line after line. Ergo, ergo, ergo, ergo . . . The math and the calculations led him to only one conclusion. The research aligned with his hypothesis.

And once he uttered the words, quietly to himself because he did not have a sleeping compartment for this part of his journey, but aloud nonetheless, all the remaining vines and the fear and the tension slipped easily away and everything became clear.

"I love Amy Farrah Fowler."

* * *

**"** **As soon as we get home, I want to have coitus with Amy."**

8\. Communicate results.

It was the last step of the scientific method, publish or perish and all that. No, _The Progress of Theoretical Physics_ wasn't going to come knocking for this particular report, but it only made sense to tell Amy how he felt. He wouldn't be here, a whole new life open before him, if it weren't for her. And he would, he'd rush back to her and tell her in the most carefully planned way that he could. He even found he wanted to - desired to, longed to - kiss her. He had three thousand miles or so to plot his course of action.

But that also meant there were three thousand miles or so to think about the tiny little burr that remained, the single rough edge of his newfound happiness.

He pondered more, trying to decide if he was talking himself into or out of the connection. If loving Amy was what it took to make their kisses something he desired, did that mean that loving Amy physically was implicit in his emotional love?

She wanted to be physical with him, that was a known factor. He felt confident his body would respond to such stimuli. Asexuals did in engage in sexual activities to please a partner. Although he had no personal desire for the act, he wasn't disinterested in it. It was the physical equivalent of watching _Masterpiece_ with her; not how he'd choose spend an hour of his time if given his druthers but no harm was done. And there was some curiosity about the act; he still occasionally wondered exactly when her nipples would harden or how her bare bottom would feel beneath his palm. Despite that, Sheldon struggled with translating those facts into real life. He tried, as the train cut a swath through the country, to force himself to believe it would be the case, to convince himself that more advanced foreplay and coitus were things he could also crave. But . . .

He also understood that Amy wouldn't wait forever. She had been clear with him that she had an average sex drive, and he knew her patience would only last so long. No, she wouldn't try to trick him or force him; those were not the acts of the woman he loved and that he knew loved him. She would not beg or coerce or cajole. One day, she'd sit him down calmly and tell him he'd simply run out of time. She would not try to change him, to mock him, to make him think he was a lesser man for his sexual orientation. She would treat the end, and him, with respect.

It was her calm respect that informed his decision more than anything else. If he had for a second thought that Amy might do or say any of those negative things, it would have been easy to feel that he was being pressured against his will. But he was not. The love he felt for her was real and it came from his heart, not from some external force. He would have coitus with Amy because it meant so much to her. And she meant so much to him.

Sheldon gulped at the thought. He would knock on her door, arriving unexpected just as he'd left unexpected. And he'd tell her that he loved her and that he would have coitus with her.

Hopefully she wouldn't expect it that night. Just because he decided that he would do it at some point in the future with Amy didn't mean he was ready yet. It was such a massive shift in the paradigm of his life, and he'd already moved everything in his heart and his brain around his love for her. It was too much change, too much to undertake all at once.

Hopefully her patience would hold out.

* * *

**"** **I called Leonard because I failed. And I didn't want you to think less of me."**

So much for arriving home on schedule, victorious. So much for proving that he discovered exactly who he was and how he could act moving forward. So much for a joyous reunion with Amy in which he could tell her what he'd decided on his journey. So much for an opportunity to properly thank her for her patience, for not breaking up with him or assuming that he was breaking up with her. So much for holding her sweet face in his palms and giving her the gift of those three little words.

* * *

" **I missed a number of date nights while I was on my train trip, and I'm contractually obligated to make them up under the terms of the Relationship Agreement."**

If he'd ever doubted for a second he loved her after he decided that he did - which he wouldn't because Sheldon never doubted the outcome of such analyzed and properly catalogued data - that moment would have convinced him.

Amy sitting beside him (at last!), holding up her hands to tick the bullet points of her carefully crafted verbal argument to him, enumerating them on her fingers. Each clause was a precious tone of truth, and when she quoted the Relationship Agreement at length, his heart quivered in his chest. When she pounced upon the word "thusly," he used all of his willpower to stay in his spot instead of leaning over and kissing her and telling her that he loved her and her logical set of arguments so much.

"Sheldon, are you evening listening to me?" Amy's words broke through. "You're just staring at me."

"Of course I'm listening. I am not a man to take a contract lightly, especially one I wrote in my favor. Extra date nights, it is."

She smiled, and his hearted expanded. Maybe he should tell her now, anyway? It wasn't the way he'd originally planned, but she was happy and they were discussing their relationship.

"Wonderful!" Amy replied. "So, for the first one, should we go to the yarn store or I heard there's a mime that does pop-up interpretations of the French Revolution every Thursday evening on the corner of Colorado and Fair Oaks . . ."

* * *

**"** **Berscheid, Snyder and Omoto. They developed the Relationship Closeness Inventory, which predicts the stability of a couple based on behavior."**

_Engaged in sexual relations._

The four words stared back at him, causing Sheldon to tap the end of his pencil against the form Amy had provided. He stole a glance up, across the island, to his girlfriend. Her head was down and her face was serious as she completed her own test. If she heard the noise, she didn't acknowledge it.

Sheldon righted his pencil and proceeded to the next point in this list of activities that a couple might engage in weekly. A stable couple, it was to be presumed, since that was the purpose of the test.

_Went to a clothing store._ Check. He'd accompanied Amy on a trip to Target, where he stood uncomfortably in the hosiery aisle while she purchased new tights. He found it odd that intentions were irrelevant to these answers; he'd had no desire to engage in tight-buying, so how did that make them a more stable couple if he were doing something he had no interest in?

_Went to a movie._ Check. _Guardians of the Galaxy._ See, if intentions were included, that entry would get a higher score. Amy hadn't wanted to see that movie at all, and she only went along because it was his turn to pick the Date Night activity. So maybe their intentions would be a wash.

His eyes flicked back up. _Engaged in sexual relations._ Had Amy known that question was on the survey when she suggested taking it? Sheldon noted that "taking subjective surveys devised by social scientists" was not a listed activity. Which probably entirely explained why intention wasn't included.

_Engaged in sexual relations._

Sheldon ignored it to quickly tick off the remainder of activities he'd shared with Amy in the past week, only pausing to snort at sporting events and wilderness activities. Although -

"Amy, when we took that walk across Griffith park because they were repaving the parking lot we normally use, did that count as a walk or a wilderness activity? I wore both sunscreen and insect repellent."

"Was there a risk of seeing a furious wild creature?"

"Well, Penny growled the whole time about having to watch Leonard play Quidditch again. Oh, wait!, never mind. That's a sporting event!"

That section complete, he moved down to complete the next section:

1\. 'X influences the extent to which I accept responsibilities in our relationship.'  
2\. 'X influences the way I feel about my future.'  
3\. 'X influences and contributes to my overall happiness.'  
4\. 'X does not have the capacity to influence how I act in various situations.'

_Engaged in sexual relations._

Sheldon stole another glance at the top of Amy's head. Nothing seemed to be distracting her about this test. He knew how she was answering many of these questions. But, then, he thought with an ache in his stomach, had she, too, paused and stumbled over the coitus question? Was now the time to tell her what he'd realized on his journey, both about his feelings for her and what that love would prompt him to do for her?

Suddenly, she raised her head and Sheldon blanched at the thought of being caught staring. But she only smiled. "Thank you for doing this with me, Sheldon. I know you hold disdain for the softer sciences, but I thought in this case the resultant integer on a defined scale would give our relationship a mathematical weight you'd appreciate."

"I couldn't have said it better myself." He paused. "Although I find it interesting that the underlying motivation isn't considered a contributing factor. For example, if we were both kidnapped and taken to revival against our will, forced to listen to faith healers and people supposedly speaking in tongues, we could have earned extra points for that."

"Notwithstanding your exaggerated example, isn't doing something you don't enjoy occasionally just for the sake of your partner the sign of a strong and unselfish relationship? For example, if you and I were ever visiting your mother on a Sunday, I would gladly accompany you to church for moral support even though I have no interest in attending. And, to extend to a different kind of relationship, you would probably only be going yourself because it would make your mother happy."

Engaged in sexual relations.

Sheldon shook his head to separate the idea of sexual relations from the memories of church with his mother. It would never do to get those two mixed up. Just like that, the moment was gone.

* * *

" **I know that if I had a wife or a fiancée, I'd ask her first before I invested money in a comic book store."**

It had been right there on the survey: Amy influenced his future financial security. The only reason he hadn't strongly agreed is because Amy had no bearing on the timing of his Nobel Prize money.

* * *

**"** **Listen to this. This is from two days ago. 'Hi. Hope you're having a good day.' Who has time for this constant sexting?"**

He needed to tell her soon before he blurted it out in the middle of a heated texting exchange. And why did she text him so much? It was like she knew, and she was taunting him, playing innocent to see how long it would take him to tell her.

Except Amy wouldn't do that. She might bluntly ask him or continue to patiently wait, but nothing in between. It was one of the things he loved about her. He needed to tell her. Soon. It was becoming an agony to carry this much love inside himself. Because it belonged to her, and he felt like he was stealing something she wanted so much. Something she deserved.

* * *

**"** **You know, 'cause, 'cause a lot of people lose their virginity on prom night."**

Sheldon stood still, watching Leonard's back disappear down the hallway. Two things suddenly occurred to him. The first was that a very loud argument between his mother and Georgie years ago now made sense. The second - and this caused a fluttering in his gut - was that Amy probably knew about this teenage expectation, too. Was it why she had been so excited about the idea of a prom? Maybe it wasn't the estrogen-fueled shopping trip for a dress or the make-up application or whatever it was the girls were up to.

But he wasn't ready yet. He'd decided to have coitus with Amy sooner or later, yes, but he assumed it would be later. Maybe much later. Did she really want to lose her virginity as just some part of a ritual, a desperate attempt to recreate a missed rite of passage?

That's not what Sheldon wanted. Although he hadn't planned it - much later, remember? - he imagined it being something special to just the two of them. He didn't want all their friends along for the foreplay. He wanted time to prepare, mentally and physically.

And he wanted to love her when he did it. Not that he didn't love her tonight - he did - but he wanted her to know that he loved her when they engaged in coitus. His love for her, after all, was the only thing driving him to do it. And why would Amy want to have sexual relations with someone who didn't love her?

Licking his lips, Sheldon reconsidered his whole evening. The thing was he had planned to tell her he'd loved her tonight. At first, he'd derided the idea of the prom as silly and unnecessary, but then he realized it could be the perfect opportunity. He'd given a lot of thought to it, and he knew Amy would think it was romantic if he said it while they were dancing close at the end of a perfect evening, swaying to a love song, balloons and twinkle lights in their peripheral vision. He planned to pull her a little closer, bend down a little lower, and whisper the words soft and gentle into her ear.

But could he tell her now? What if she only thought it was foreplay, a verbal come hither? What if she thought he was insincere and just saying it as a way to get under her skirt? And what if he gave in to her? What if they had coitus, drunk of the antioxidants of pomegranate juice? Would he only regret it in the morning?

Sheldon reached up to touch his pounding chest. That wasn't at all how he wanted any of this to happen. He needed time to think, he needed to regroup. Maybe he could just go to the restroom and pretend something hadn't agreed with him and send Leonard out to make his apologies -

"Ready, buddy?" Leonard slapped his shoulder as he walked by, toward the door. "Come on. Let's go get our dates."

"Leonard, I'm not sure I can go."

He roommate turned around with dipped eyebrows. "What not? I thought you said it was going to be off the hook."

"I - I -" Should he tell Leonard he was afraid that he loved Amy so much he might have coitus with her for all the wrong reasons, even before he was ready?

"Come on. You don't want to disappoint Amy, do you? You know how much she's been looking forward to this."

Sheldon took a deep breath and followed his friend into the hallway.

* * *

**"** **Where are you going?"  
** **"** **I can't do this."**

_Racing heart._ Yes, Sheldon felt it fluttering in his chest like a caged bird.

_Feeling weak, faint, or dizzy._ It was the reason he was sitting on the edge of his bed with his head between his knees, which was not the easiest way to look up one's symptoms on one's phone.

_Feeling sweaty or having chills._ Maybe Leonard hadn't manipulated the thermostat after all.

_Breathing difficulties._ That explained why his lungs felt too small for his body.

_Feeling a loss of control._

Sheldon raised his head and rubbed his palm down his face. Amy was so beautiful, not just because she had a beautiful mind, but because she'd prepared her body and appearance to appeal to him. She made herself look "hot" to sexually excite him. Because she expected coitus this evening. And she thought he'd put on this hiney-hugging tuxedo for the same reason. Why else would she tell him he looked handsome?

Didn't he get a say? Didn't he get some input into the time table? Was he seriously considering being intimate with Amy just because she expected it tonight, regardless of whether or not he was ready and comfortable with the idea?

To be continued . . .

* * *

_**In case you're curious, you can take** **Berscheid, Snyder and Omoto's** _ **Relationship Closeness Inventory** _**online. Just Google it!** _

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	6. Chapter 6

**"** **I'm always hoping. But tonight I just wanted to have a nice time with you."**

It was the "always" that stabbed him. Continuously, on every occasion, without exception. He already knew Amy felt that way, but to hear her say it hurt more than he imagined it would.

"But tonight . . ." But tonight she was willing to push her desires aside for him. With him. To share an experience that didn't involve coitus. Why had he ever thought she would try to force or pressure him into sex? It only added to his guilt that he had.

That was so like Amy. Always - continuously, on every occasion, without exception - putting his concerns before her own. It wasn't fair, and he knew it, but that didn't lessen his indebtedness to her. He was becoming a burden. He was ruining yet another event for Amy. Just because he wasn't normal, just because he was still too frightened of a decision he had made months ago.

And he loved Amy. So very much. There weren't any balloons or twinkle lights, but he needed her know that the greatest thing she'd done for him wasn't dancing with him, it was waiting outside the bedroom door for him. In the metaphorical sense, too.

Wait! What was she saying? No, he couldn't let her say it first! No, it was _his_ declaration to make! Interrupting her, Sheldon opened his mouth and gave her his heart.

* * *

**"** **The only conclusion was love."**

Maybe there was no one perfect way to tell someone you loved them because, in the end, they were all perfect. At least Amy seemed to think so.

* * *

**"** **Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Just because I love you doesn't mean girls are allowed in my room."**

"Ah, that's better," Amy said, sitting down on the sofa. Sheldon heard two soft thunks against the rug as he finished dunking the tea bags. "My shoes are killing me."

"They might have, you know. High heels lead to imbalance, which is very unsafe on a roof," Sheldon said, handing her a mug and sitting next to her. "Did you enjoy your prom, other than the constant threat of plummeting to your death?"

"I did." She smiled softly at him over the rim before she took a drink. "Honestly, though, I enjoyed what you said before prom the best. I love you, Sheldon."

"I love you, too," he replied and gladly met her half-way for a little kiss. It was the twenty-seventh time they'd performed that sequence in the past four hours.

"But did you enjoy it?" Amy asked. "I know it wasn't your idea."

"Yes. I still fail to see the ritual's value to society as a whole, but it was an acceptable diversion for an evening."

Amy took another sip of her tea before reaching forward to set it on the coffee table. Then she took the time to smooth out the skirt of her aqua dress. "Sheldon, now that I know exactly how you feel, can we revisit the kissing issue?"

"Twenty-seven isn't enough?"

"Twenty-seven?"

"The number of times we've kissed tonight."

She shook her head and said, her voice soft, "But never French kissing."

"Oh." Sheldon took a drink to buy himself some time. "It has been more than six months, hasn't it?"

"Eight months," Amy volunteered but then turned away. "But you were gone over the summer and - and I decided to subtract those weeks. I didn't know if you really thought about me much while you were gone."

Sheldon reached for her hand, drawing her back to him. "Amy! I thought about you often, every day. It was on the train that I realized I loved you."

"But you waited this long to tell me?"

He shrugged. "There never seemed to be a good time. It's important, and I wanted it to be right. Technically, it was't the right time when I did it tonight. I had planned on tonight, actually, but while we were dancing. I wanted to wait for something more romantic."

Squeezing his hand, Amy smiled. "It _was_ perfect." Then she cleared her throat. "But, back to the topic at hand, have you reconsidered intimacy in any form? Even French kissing?"

He swallowed. "I have. I also realized on the train that I can be fully intimate with you someday. I've ruled coitus in, as it were."

"You have?" Sheldon was treated to the same shocked but thrilled face he received earlier in the evening.

"Now, now," he put up his hand. "Not tonight. We've been over that."

"I know. And I have enough for tonight already."

"Really?" Sheldon asked. "Even though you're always hoping?"

"Yes." Amy nodded. "Do you, um, have you considered a time line for, um, this intimacy?"

Blowing out his breath, Sheldon considered this. It was only a logical question. He understood and valued the importance of a good schedule. But . . . "Can we take it slow?" he asked. "I'm still trying to come to terms with it all. As long as I can remember, I just assumed I would dedicate my life completely to science, that I wouldn't let anything distract me from my professional goals. But, well . . ." He shrugged. "You can be pretty distracting."

Amy smiled. "I'm not sure if that was compliment, but it felt like one." She squeezed his hand. "How about ending the evening with another kiss?"

"Of course." Sheldon pressed his lips against Amy's. This he had come to terms with. He enjoyed kissing Amy. And not just because it was comforting but because he loved her and it felt good to be that close to her. It was that feeling, he knew, he needed to focus on when he considered having coitus with her. The closeness and how happy it made her. And her happiness made him happy. Not all the bits below their waists.

"Sheldon?" Amy whispered, breaking the kiss.

"Yes?"

"I think a good first step, something slow and sweet, would be a French kiss."

"Right now?"

"If I say within the next three minutes is that enough of a timetable for you?"

He gulped. Continuously, on every occasion, without exception. Considering that he thought he might be having coitus tonight, this should be simple. "Alright."

But neither of them moved. "Do you want me to go brush my teeth?" Amy asked.

"A little bit." But when his girlfriend started to get up, he pulled her back down. "But no. If we're going to share genital secretions someday, I need to come to terms with your bodily fluids. I've seen what you consumed all night and it was nothing different than what I ate, although you did monopolize that spinach artichoke dip."

"Um, sure." Amy turned and put her hand on his shoulder. "So, are you ready?"

"Should we decide, um, who is initiating?"

Amy's eyebrows dipped. "I can, if you like."

"Very well."

She closed her eyes and leaned forward, and Sheldon braced himself for her slippery, slimy appendage. Except it wasn't there. It was just her lips. The lips he knew well. Relaxing, he closed his eyes, and pressed closer to her. Maybe she changed her mind. He took shifted his lips, to get a little breath of air -

Suddenly Amy's tongue was there. He parted his lips more, and he felt it brush alongside his. Oh. It wasn't slimy at all. Not quite sure what to do, he moved his tongue slightly, and suddenly Amy made a little noise and her mouth opened wider, too, and there were teeth, teeth other than his, and, oh Lordy!, he was in Amy's mouth. He touched the edge of her tongue and Amy made that sound again, and he realized it was moan. Of pleasure.

It must have been pleasurable to him, too, because he had no desire to end it; rather, he found a rhythm to their movements and he darted and slid along with her. It was like dancing. And he could dance. Amy could dance. They were dancing together. Another noise, and he angled to relieve the pressure he felt building in his underpants.

Oh dear. There had been an occasional Date Night kiss, and that first kiss on the train, that had resulted in some level of semi-erectness before, fortunately something discreet and quickly self-dissipating, but this was a full erection and he wasn't quite sure what to do about it. He pushed Amy away slightly.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him, her lips damp and slightly pinker than normal.

"Stop - please," he stammered.

Suddenly, Amy looked crushed. "What's wrong? Did you -" her voice broke "- hate it?"

"No. No!" Sheldon quickly replied. "It was . . . wasn't bad. It's just - I'm sorry." He stumbled over his words. He wanted to both reassure her and try to find a way to save a little dignity.

"What for? I don't understand. I enjoyed it very much."

"I've, um . . ." He felt his cheeks flame and that made it even worse.

"Talk to me, Sheldon," she prodded gently.

Sheldon closed his eyes. Someday, he knew, he'd had to discuss this and probably far more with Amy. And she loved him. He could trust her. "I seem to be sexually aroused," he whispered and opened his eyes to watch her reaction.

"Oh!" Amy's eyes widened, and she licked her lips before the edges ever-so-slightly curled up even as he saw her pull down again. At least that devastated look of a moment ago was gone. He silently begged her not to look down, and, although he saw curiosity in her eyes, she didn't. He loved her so much in that moment.

"Well, that's, uh, good, right? If, if someday we're going to be intimate."

He nodded. She was correct. "I didn't expect it, though. Not this much."

Her face struggling again, she bit her lip. Her eyes danced. "Can I ask how much?"

"Amy!"

But she smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "You don't have to be embarrassed, Sheldon, it's perfectly natural."

"I know. It's just . . . I'm not ready to share it with you yet."

"Well, then, I'll just look forward to the day you are." She placed a small kiss on his hot cheek. "This has been the best evening on my life, but I think I should see myself out, don't you?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Amy reached down for her shoes, and Sheldon watched her put them on. Never once did she glance at his tented pants. She walked slowly toward the door, her gown rustling, and she only turned around at the last moment with a little wave. "Good night, Sheldon."

"Wait!" Her eyebrows went up at his outburst. "It's been the best night of my life, too. I'm sorry it ended like this."

"I'm not."

The door shut behind her, and Sheldon puzzled over her words for a moment before he went to take a shower.

* * *

**"** **At the Christmas tree lot, there was mistletoe, and she kissed me under it in public. Like we were the stars of a Tijuana sex show."**

It was just one of the raisins he'd found in Amy's love loaf. Why did she not only insist celebrating Christmas, but also insist that he pretend to celebrate along with her? Pretend, of course, because there was no celebration in his heart. It was pseudo-realigious-but-not-really holiday centered on the concept of forced mutual gift giving, something he loathed.

This year was worse than all the previous years. She wanted a live Christmas tree, despite all the articles he sent her about shedding needles and dripping sap, and, the next thing he knew, he was standing in a Christmas tree lot with her, explaining how the one she had chosen wouldn't fit in the trunk of her car. It was a matter of simple geometry, not even the more advanced field of physics.

"Perhaps you're correct," she'd muttered and allowed herself to be lead to the much more reasonable tabletop size trees.

"See?" Sheldon pointed out. "You can cover the whole thing with a Hefty bag and you won't have to see all those needles and sap! And your apartment won't smell like Pine-Sol."

"The whole point is I want to see it, not hide it," Amy said, her face glum. "I love Christmas."

Why the pouty face? Well, he'd just remind her of something better than Christmas. "As much as you love me?"

"No, of course not." This she sighed and started toward the exit. "If you'd hate the tree, I don't have to have a tree."

He should have felt triumphant, but he didn't. Amy looked so . . . defeated. Sheldon turned back to look at the tree she loved, mentally taking measure of it. "Amy! Wait!" He called and trotted to catch up with her. She stopped and waited for him. "Does your car have fold-down seats? Leonard's does."

"Yes. Why?"

"Oh, once, when Howard misprogrammed a robot giving him manual satisfaction, it was apparently quite tricky to transport both him and robot to the emergency room without causing damage to his - " Sheldon glanced around and leaned in close to whisper "- um, privates."

"Privates?" Amy's eyebrows went up.

"You know, his . . ." Sheldon tipped his head forward twice, "penis."

"I know, I just never thought I'd be thinking about Howard's. Anyway, the ER?"

"I'll tell you the story on the way home. My point is, according to Leonard, they accomplished this task by folding down the seats in the car. I think that, perhaps, if we fold down both your back seat and the front passenger seat, the tree you liked might fit. Of course, I'll be forced to sit in the back beside it, which is only two rungs above having my genitals fondled by a robot on my scale of undesirable automobile situations."

"My boyfriend is finally talking about a penis and it's not even his," she muttered. Then she gave a sharp nod. "I'll take it."

Before he could respond, Amy steered him back to the tree in question. After an employee was located to wrap it up - "Tightly! No needles poking through!" Sheldon insisted - and assist them in bringing it to the car, there was little to do but wait for this happen.

"Can you use two pieces of burlap?" Sheldon asked the employee. "It's just that I have very sensitive skin and tree sap causes the idea of the nasty rash."

"Come on, Sheldon, there's something I want to show you over here." Amy grabbed his hand and pulled him away, causing him to stumble slightly over his own feet.

"What? Ohmmmmmm!" He couldn't properly enunciate his surprise because Amy's lips were in the way. Namely, the were pressed tightly against his as she grabbed the edge of his windbreaker and pulled him down to reach her. Then she let him go with a grin. "Amy! We're in public!" he admonished.

Amy pointed above them and he tilted his back to look. "Mistletoe," she explained, as if that were a worthy excuse. "Thank you for the tree, Sheldon. Now we get to go home and decorate it together!"

She launched herself into his arms, and, looking around to see how many people were watching, Sheldon patted her on the back. "Okay, fine, but no more penis stories for you if it's only going to get you this worked up."

* * *

**"** **Let's see, what do I know about Amy? She loves medieval literature, Chaucer's her favorite. And her eyes sparkle when she watches old French movies. I enjoy how harp music causes her fingers to dance as if she's playing along."**

Lordy, what a hippy he'd become! As if loving Amy wasn't enough, as if telling Amy that he loved her wasn't enough, now he was telling Bernadette how much he loved her.

Having entire conversations in old English was a special evening for them, and it felt wrong to include others. He didn't want to be known as the man who was so maudlin he just stared as his girlfriend when he was supposed to be watching the movie on the screen. And the harp! Surely Bernadette had seen the effect of Amy's soft hand movements on the love bug now living in his brain. It was embarrassing.

And . . . and what if Bernadette also picked up on the way Amy's fingers made him wonder how it would feel to have those fingertips on his skin? He noticed, when she was occasionally brazen enough to touch the side of his face during a kiss, that they were slightly callused. He'd added them to mental list of curiosities he could satisfy when he engaged in eventual coitus with Amy, things he used to motivate himself to think about it more, to try and determine when he would feel ready. He'd even taken to trying to imagine the sensation in the shower during his monthly ritual.

He wondered if the feeling he imagined could qualify as erotic. He realized he was holding his hands out in front of him, emulating the way her fingers strummed her harp, and, maybe, one day, would strum the fibers of his body.

Sheldon snapped them back, hoping Bernadette hadn't noticed.

* * *

**"** **Now, let's find the kind of gift that makes her feel small and worthless."**

If Amy kept insisting on this Christmas hooey, Sheldon would just show her how silly she was being. One of the reasons he fell in love with her was because she was so unselfish and understood of his desires and not-desires. She knew he had an aversion to Christmas, so why was he going to a Christmas party at her apartment this evening? He had no idea.

Amy may have thought she was being kind and understanding by telling him that they wouldn't exchange gifts this year, but the truly generous thing to do would have been to exclude him from spending the entire month of December with her. Kissing in public, smelly trees indoors instead of outside were they were intended to stay, raisin-infested figgy pudding, forced merriment at unnecessary social gatherings . . . the list of undesirables grew almost daily.

So he'd teach her lesson about the pratfalls of gift giving, if nothing else. If he found the perfect present for her, she'd feel guilty or sad or as though she'd underperformed in this contest known as Christmas.

* * *

" **Happy holidays to my dear Amy. I hope you treasure this as much as I treasure you."**

Finding the recordable picture frame was a stroke of luck, if Sheldon believed in such things. A picture of him on Santa's lap might just be relegated to cute, or, worse, just confusing and fail to make his point fully. But articulating Amy's worth in his life and his heart in such a way that she could hear it over and over again, whenever she liked? That had to be torture. Pure, perfect torture.

* * *

**"** **They're perfect. It tastes like her hugs."**

Oh.

He hadn't expected that.

He should have been angry or at least disappointed that Amy had been unable to follow her own no-gift-exchanging protocol, thus ruining his effort to make a point about how gifts ruined everything.

But, as Sheldon sat at the island later that night, savoring another cookie, nothing felt ruined. He wasn't angry or disappointed in the least. Instead, he only felt comforted and warm and loved.

He wondered when Amy called MeeMaw for the recipe, and what she said to convince his grandmother to give it up. It was even more secretive that her brisket recipe, and he still remember the debacle about that one. She won the cookie contest at the county fair for ten years in a row with it until they changed the rules. MeeMaw refused to even look at a Farris wheel after that.

Taking another bite, Sheldon closed his eyes as the sweet, snappy dough hit his tongue. They were so fresh that Amy must have baked them earlier today, even though she had a goose to glaze and a figgy pudding to assemble and an ugly sweater to don. He imagined her sprinkling them in between her other tasks, waiting for them to cool, carefully packaging them just-so in the red box, careful not to break any.

Sheldon felt just as happy eating this second cookie as he had the first. It was not the cookie itself, although it was a perfect rendition; it was the thought that Amy had put into it, the memories and harmony it invoked in Sheldon. And, remembering the smile upon her face, Amy had been just as happy as him. Who would have imagined that giving her a gift, something sappy and sentimental, would lead so much happiness on his part?

It did not escape him that, perhaps, coitus with Amy could be like this. Giving her something she longed for even if he did not, something she craved even if he did not, something she would no doubt love even if he did not, sharing those moments with her . . . Would her smile be as soft? Would her voice be as breathless? Would her skin glow as brightly? Could that make him feel as good as he did in this moment? Not because of the physical act itself, but because it would invoke such warmth and harmony between the two of them?

Sitting alone with a cookie in the dark, Sheldon wondered if there might be things he'd enjoy about coitus.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	7. Chapter 7

**"** **Interesting, you didn't mention Amy."  
** **"** **Who do you think made the French toast with butter and syrup?"**

Of course Amy's presence was implied. She was there from the very beginning, as he played the whole scenario in his head just before he explained it.

Why had Penny thought she wouldn't be? She was his girlfriend, and, as it was his perfect day, she would do the perfect thing by setting an early alarm, shopping, letting herself into his apartment with the emergency key, and whipping up some fluffy, crispy French toast before he awoke. It was the delicious smell that would finally tempt him out of his sleep.

After the surprise birthday party, Sheldon considered this while staring at his bedroom ceiling, missing the days before Amy when he had few sleepless nights. But was it fair to make Amy endure a sleepless night of her own by getting up early to drive over to his apartment for breakfast? And was French toast really an emergency for which she should use her key?

Wouldn't the whole thing just be simpler if she was already present in the apartment? If she'd slept here? If she - Sheldon rolled uncomfortably - lived here? Granted, the apartment was a little small for Penny and Leonard in one room and Sheldon in another and Amy on the sofa. Sheldon rolled again and then sat up, realizing that he'd rolled to the side of the bed and the pillow he did not use.

The extra side. The empty side.

Rubbing his eyes, he got out of bed and padded to the kitchen to make himself some warm milk.

Could he live with Amy someday? Sheldon wondered as he waited on the microwave. She'd proven herself worthy time and time again; in fact, she understood such simple matters as his bathroom schedule and the organizing of the breakfast cereals better than Leonard. The Relationship Agreement could be expanded to include many of the clauses from The Roommate Agreement. It would be a simple copy and paste job.

He'd made the decision to have coitus with her. Someday. Coitus would have to occur with the two of them in the same room, although he thought he'd prefer it in Amy's bedroom so that no one could overhear or interrupt them. Having come to such a life-altering decision through so much tribulation and uncertainty, Sheldon was certain he'd never have coitus with anyone else. As it would be a gift to Amy, he wanted it to be special. Perhaps after exchanging some statements acknowledging the importance and fidelity of the union, they would make love as a seal upon those words.

And he loved her. She loved him. Sheldon trusted her implicitly. She was the only person he truly wanted in his life for the entirety of it. She was the only one he'd want to mother his children. Another product of coitus, no doubt.

Vows of devotion, a night of special coitus, living in the same space, loving her daily, raising children together -

Sheldon gulped and lowered the glass. It sounded an awful lot like marriage.

* * *

**"** **It means that we care so much about each other, there's enough left over for an eight-ounce reptile."**

A pet had been Amy's idea, and after several days of debating and bracketing, they settled on a turtle.

"I supposed we'll have to edit our wills now," Sheldon pointed out, the decision made. He closed his laptop and sat it on the coffee table in front of them.

"Our wills?" Amy asked.

"Yes. A common tortoise, such as we're considering, can live upwards of one hundred twenty-five years."

"Hmmm, I guess so."

"You do have will, don't you?" Amy shook her head. "That's very irresponsible of you. If you would die tomorrow, who would get all your collectibles?"

"Um, my parents, I guess. I don't have that many collectibles."

"Well, that's another problem," Sheldon replied. "Do you think your parents would really know what to do with all your possessions?"

"Most of it could go to charity. I'm fine with that. I won't be around to use it. The only thing I'll miss is my mother's face when she finds my art books of naked Renaissance statues and thinks they're pornography. But, other than that, hopefully I have already made many valuable contributions to science that will keep my name alive."

Sheldon nodded. "Good point. But - but what if I want something to remember you by? What if it's unclear and your parents take our turtle child but don't feed it properly?"

"You want something to remember me by?" Amy's hand brushed against his knee.

"Of course I do."

"But I thought you had an eidetic memory."

Sheldon shifted. "I do. But sometimes it's nice to have something tactile." He turned and let his fingers dance over the sleeve of her sweater. "To remember how you feel."

Amy smiled and leaned closer. "Do you like being tactile with me? Feeling me?"

His heart pounding, Sheldon realized the conversation had strayed from his original intentions. "I do. I find it . . . comforting at times and romantic at other times."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

Amy took an audible breath. "How is wanting to be tactile with me different than being . . . intimate with me?"

Sheldon tilted his head. "For the record, I consider our relationship intimate as is. But - " he put a hand up to stall her "- I know what you're asking." He paused and worked his lower lip. "I don't how to explain it really. I like being . . . sensual with you. You give me new sensory experiences. Meaning that I enjoy having my senses filled with you. But I suppose . . . you already fill me up and I don't find a hunger for anything more." He looked carefully at Amy's face, which seemed almost blank to him. "I know that's not what you want."

"But you're - you're still willing to overindulge at least once at the Amy buffet?"

His eyebrows dipping, Sheldon nodded nonetheless. "Um . . . yes." He reached out and took her hand. "I love you so much it overflows, Amy. We'll find a way to use that. Some day."

A tiny kiss pressed against his cheek, and Amy said, "Today, there is enough for our tortoise."

"Hey, don't forget the next one hundred twenty-five years!"

* * *

**"** **Are you asking me to go to Mars with you?"**

He supposed he was. How had he ever considered Mars without her?

In fact, after four and half years, he couldn't imagine his life without her. And, lately, he'd been imagining the rest of his life with her. Unlike a space suit, it didn't feel confining in the least. Occasionally in the past, he imagined Amy moving into his apartment building or even sleeping on the sofa but those ideas now only sounded silly and immature to him. And, just a couple of weeks ago, it had crossed his mind to marry her.

Well, why not?

He wanted her with him, not just through good times like creating a hit YouTube show or receiving his future Nobel Prize, but also the rough times like getting bitten by a turtle and suffocating in space. Think how much sooner Mark Watney would have escaped Mars with a partner by his side.

He wanted her support and her assistance and her intelligence and her laughter and her . . . He just wanted her. Her. Because he loved her so much the entire galaxy couldn't contain it.

* * *

**"** **You just can't keep it in your space pants, can you?"**

Boy, she just went from the wedding to the wedding night in less than thirty seconds! So much for that old belief that women liked it slow. Was he going to get any dancing in first, to limber up his joints or any cake to carb-load for the exercise he was going to get in bed?

Oh! Their kids would be Martians! How cool would that be!

* * *

**"** **Amy, the Daleks are right on my tail. Quick, we need to reset the time circuits! Oh, no, I left my sonic screwdriver behind."**

Yep, the perfect companion. Even if it did necessitate being closer to her bed than the story line called for, and even if she didn't look as excited as he was. Well, then, at least it was a good empathizing agent for her, for when their roles were reversed at some point in this very same bed.

* * *

**"** **Well, as long as we're suspending the parameters, I could stay really late and we could have our first sleepover."**

His hip ached from the pressure of the hard floor beneath it, and he rolled again.

"Sheldon?" came Amy's soft voice from the sofa. "Can you not sleep? I told you the rug wasn't enough padding." He heard the leather of the sofa squeak beneath her. "Turn on the light. We'll find a way to share these cushions."

"No," Sheldon protested although he rolled on his back, "there's not enough of them."

"This is silly, neither one of us can sleep like this."

Reaching up to fluff the pillow beneath his head, Sheldon said, "If it's so silly you don't have to stay."

Amy inhaled sharply. "Do you mean that?"

Sheldon winced. "No," he admitted. Then he sat up. "I just thought it would be more comfortable."

"I know." Amy paused. "Listen, go sleep in your bed. The last thing I want is a cranky boyfriend in the morning."

"If one of us gets the bed, it should be you." He was glad she couldn't see the way his lip curled in the dark when he said it. It was the chivalrous thing to say, but he didn't mean it.

"Can you even sleep on this sofa? It seems too short for you."

"Excellent point. Okay, the bed for me then. You're a peach!" Sheldon scrambled upright, grabbing his pillow. "See you in the morning!"

"Um, okay. Goodnight," Amy called as he exited the fort, letting the blanket flop loudly behind him in his hurry.

His bed felt like heaven when he stretched out upon it, his muscles relaxing into the supportive mattress. What a great girlfriend Amy was, to volunteer to sleep on that lumpy, too short, and too soft sofa. Yes, it was a shame to give up more time in Fort Cozy McBlanket, but his spinal health was more important than a night spent under the blankets they stole from Leonard's bed.

The late hour made his eyelids heavy, and Sheldon sighed peacefully thinking that maybe now, since they were in separate rooms, this didn't even have to count as a boy/girl sleepover anymore. But, that thought rattling through his head, he couldn't drift off to sleep as he expected. He shifted but not because the bed was uncomfortable. With a deep sigh, he sat up and looked around his dark bedroom.

"Remember when life was more simple and I didn't need a conscience to worry me about whether or not my girlfriend would wake up with a sore neck?" he asked the empty space.

But if he gave her the bed and he couldn't sleep on the sofa, what options did that leave them? He gulped. Only one. It wasn't that the idea hadn't crossed his mind before; he'd slept huddled with his friends in the Arctic, after all. And space would no doubt be limited on their mission to Mars. But this just wouldn't be sleeping next to a friend or fellow space explorer, he knew. There was an extra layer of intimacy that the location lent to touching, even accidentally in the middle of the night. There was an honesty to sleeping so close, dreams making one vulnerable. What if he said something embarrassing in his sleep? What if he snored or drooled? Oh, yuck, what if she snored or drooled?

What if he had an arousing dream?

Dreams were such highly illogical constructs that if was not surprising that, a few times during his REM cycle, Sheldon had been a typical hot-blooded male and participated in imaginary coitus. He thought. Not having experience with the real thing, his actions were always hazy at best, slipping away quickly when he awoke with a pounding heart and stiff erection.

But then he was trying for Amy. He'd agreed to have coitus with Amy at some point. It seemed unlikely they'd ever get to that point if he couldn't muster the courage to lie fully clothed next to her. And what was marriage, other than a permanent boy/girl sleepover? He liked feeling her close, having his senses filled with her. And he'd agreed to a big step tonight.

Just as Neil Armstrong had done before him, Sheldon took the first step by getting out of bed and then returned to the living room and ducked under the fort again.

"Sheldon?" Amy asked.

"I realized this isn't much of a sleepover if we're different rooms. Would - would you like to join me in my bed?" Amy gasped and he added quickly, "No hanky panky! You have to keep your hands to yourself."

"Okay."

Back in his bedroom, they laid down under the covers without words, and Sheldon stretched out on his back staring into the ceiling. The bed felt different with her there. His mattress was supposed to eliminate the sensation of movement from one's sleeping partner, but he swore he felt a slight incline toward her body. She adjusted a leg, and the sheets rustled with a volume he did not remember them having when he was alone. She rolled and her hand brushed his arm.

"Sorry," she murmured, snatching it back.

Uncomfortable, Sheldon rolled on his side and was surprised to find her eyes open, studying him. "Are you going to watch me all night? It's a little creepy."

"Sorry." Amy rolled over to the face the other direction, her brown hair smacking him on the way. He was still brushing it out of his face when he became aware of a new source of heat near his nether regions. Oh, no - wait. He gave a deep sigh of relief when he realized it wasn't coming from him.

"Amy, why is your posterior so warm? It's like a volcano in the middle of my bed."

"I can either sleep facing you or with my bottom facing you, it's your choice."

"And yet your tone implies I have no choice."

"Good to know you're listening."

Sheldon sighed. He was never going to get any sleep like this. He needed to relax. "Are you familiar with ancient Vulcan practice of Kolinahr? I find the breathing exercises quite helpful when I have difficulty falling asleep."

"Oh?"

"If I demonstrate it, will you do it with me?"

"Okay."

He explained every step of the exercise between breathes, closing his eyes and concentrating on the oxygen filling his lungs and then ridding his body of both unnecessary carbon dioxide and emotions. Slow and steady he instructed her, and his own inhalations and exhalations were softly echoed back to him from the other side of the bed.

"Good," he breathed out softly, already feeling calmer and sleepier. "That was nice."

"It is," Amy agreed, her own voice heavy with sleep.

With a little smile, Sheldon curled up tighter around her, not even aware that his arm had encircled her waist. All he felt was peace and oblivion as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**"** **You act like I didn't get you that mushroom log on Valentine's Day."**

Shiitake Mushroom Log Kit, $29.95, at Williams Sonoma. It seemed like so little to pay for a gift that said so much.

A mushroom log said patience. It took up to sixteen weeks for the first harvest, and that was after incubating for twelve to fifteen months. That same log would continue producing for up to three years. Mushrooms had grown this way for millennia. A mushroom log said forever.

A mushroom log said that the owner already had what it needed, with nothing lacking. All the materials for optimal growth were already present in the growth medium. A mushroom log told the recipient they were perfect just as they were.

A mushroom log said faith in the future. Production could be unpredictable and seasonal. A mushroom log said robust, for any stray microbe could damage a weaker specimen.

A mushroom log said strong. Softwoods inhibited growth. A mushroom said light. Not for photosynthesis, but because it sent the signal to begin fruiting.

A mushroom log said . . . asexual. Mushrooms reproduce using spores. But spores also said adaptive. Spores will travel long distances to reproduce, if necessary. Heterogamy, the act of alternating sexual strategies based on conditions.

A mushroom log said "I'm trying to adapt, for you."

* * *

**"** **It doesn't matter, sweetie. The moment a man lays with a woman, they are married in the eyes of the Lord."**

If had a dime for every time he heard his mother say that, Sheldon would have precisely $46.30. The first time he'd heard it was an overhead fight between his mother and MeeMaw back when she was dating Dr. Stugis, but the frequency reached its pinnacle during the adolescence of Missy.

Sheldon didn't believe in the eyes of the Lord, because he didn't believe in a deity with orbits that needed filled, but the statement had come back to him in the past few months, when he considered having coitus with Amy. Were marriage and coitus the same thing?

Technically, of course not. Based on his mother's past actions, she didn't really believe it, either; the thing that troubled him the most about seeing her _in flagrante delicto_ was how hypocritical that made her, especially since Ron-of-the-prayer-group-and-fine-booty had been tossed aside without a whiff of matrimony.

But it was also true the Sheldon knew he'd only have coitus with one woman in his life just as he knew he'd only ever love one woman the way he loved Amy. And, if he were considering living with her on Mars at some future point, letting her crawl out of their space-bed early in the Martian dawn to make him space-French toast, wasn't that the same thing?

Mary Cooper's visit to see he and Leonard get an award was not the first time he'd thought about it in those terms. After all, he assumed that Amy taught him to drive just so she'd have transport to the hospital while in labor with their eventual progeny. It was not even the first time he'd discussed it with his mother. It was just the most convenient time for her bring him the catalyst for his conversation with Amy.

Finally alone at dinner, she slide the little box across the table but kept her hand on top. "Shelly, I've brought the ring as you requested."

"Thank you."

"But, son, I want you to think carefully about this. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. Marriage is forever."

Sheldon frowned and lowered his fork. "The only thing joining us together will be a legally-binding contract and our genitals, not your mythological deity."

"Sheldon Lee!"

He tried a different tactic. "Does it make it better if the legally-binding contract comes first so that our genitals can join afterwards?"

His mother sat back slightly. "A little. But, honey, even after the honeymoon is over, you're still married."

"Mom, I love her. She's the only one I'm going to put all this effort into for the rest of my life. I want her to bear my children and then serve us all Tang in our hermitically sealed pod every morning until the children leave us to go settle the rest of the galaxy."

"And then?"

"And then we'll sit in our hover-chairs together and watch both the Martian moons set, and we'll reminisce fondly about the effect of a greater gravitational force on our digestive tracts. Just try to put that sort of deep connection asunder."

Mary pushed the box closer and removed her hand. "Well, son, you do have a way with words. Not a way I entirely understand, but if Amy does, then she has my blessing."

* * *

**"** **Really? That's the commitment issue you're wrestling with? Sheldon, do you understand the irony of your fixation on a man with super speed, while after five years all I can get out of you is a distracted make-out session on a couch?"**

Distracted? How insulting. Sheldon wasn't distracted. Not in the sense Amy meant. Yes, his attention was divided, but not because he wasn't paying attention. It was divided on purpose. It had been ever since the night of the prom.

Sheldon had been very surprised by the state of his sexual arousal when Amy left that night: how quickly it had happened and how, um, pronounced it had been. Even though she'd mostly behaved admirably, it still caused embarrassment. What if Leonard or Penny walked in on them? What if they were at her apartment and he had to leave? What if - and this was the crux of the matter - what if it kept happening and Amy took it as sign that he was ready to be fully intimate with her before he really was? What if, and this made him gulp, what if he allowed himself to be carried along by the sensations that making out with Amy caused, what if he allowed them to be intimate? Some rushed, ill-planned, and ill-timed messy encounter on a sofa?

That's not how he wanted it.

He was going to make love to Amy for the first time on their wedding night. What started as a somewhat fearful thought over a glass of milk had turned into a full-fledged plan. He had the ring. The L.A. Philharmonic was offering an early harps concert in July, and he'd ordered premium tickets. He was still researching dinner options, and he was still deciding exactly when to ask. Over dinner? Or at intermission? _That's_ the commitment issue with which he was actually wrestling.

So, in order to prevent usurping of his plan, Sheldon had hit upon the idea that perhaps dedicating a separate section of his brain - a very small part - to something completely harmless and unrelated would help him contain his arousal. And it worked. Granted, he wasn't for sure if it would have lessened a bit naturally, now that he was accustomed to the act. But maybe not. Another thing that surprised him was how much he enjoyed making out with Amy. It was a way to be sensual and loving with her, that felt both special and non-threatening at the same time. Why had he ever shunned the very thought of kissing her?

After she'd left, after he'd cooled down, and after he'd seen how happy his friends were to finally be getting married themselves, Sheldon decided that he couldn't really fault Amy for something she didn't know had been happening for months. Once she heard some of his reasons (obviously, he'd leave out the proposal at the concert), no doubt she'd appreciate the care with which he was approaching their first act of sexual intimacy. Relationships were difficult enough - boy, didn't he know it! - without one half not knowing the entire situation.

He'd just call her, explain it to her, emphasize how much he loved her and how much he enjoyed making out with her, and, as a tease, ask her to save the date for certain evening in July.

Smiling softly to himself, Sheldon went to his desk, opened his laptop, and selected her from his contacts.

* * *

**"** **Being your girlfriend is so challenging. Emotionally, physically. I've been incredibly patient for years . . . This isn't easy to say, because I love you, but I need some time to take a step back and re-evaluate our situation."**

The "okay" was a verbal hiccup. Because he didn't understand anything at all. And he most certainly was not okay.

Sheldon shut the laptop, a catching, crushing sound coming from his chest. Was he breathing? Was his heart beating? Was he dreaming? He looked down at his desk and around the empty apartment, looking for what he knew not.

But - but - he was going to marry her.

Desperate, confused, his world crashing down on him, he reached for Gollum just to have someone to talk to. Maybe he could explain it to him. But how? Gollum was only an inanimate statue.

Something . . . an answer . . . an explanation . . . for the bazinga that would never come.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Aacckk . . . unfortunately, you knew it was coming . . .** _

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	8. Chapter 8

**"** **No piece of paper ever cut me this deep."**

Because if Amy had just stabbed him through the heart, at least he'd be dead. Through-and-through with a dagger, front to back, deadly but clean and quick. No time to register the pain before sweet oblivion took him. But, instead, she'd ever-so-calmly shaved the entire front surface of his heart loose, a tag of his former self hanging free, exposing all the nerve endings beneath. Bloody memories surfaced and oozed. It didn't hurt every time he moved or flexed; it hurt with every breath he took. There was no scab of life to seal and protect the wound, because there was no life without her. Sheldon may have had a diamond, but Amy had a jagged diamond blade that left him raw.

He needed it cauterized. He needed it bandaged. He needed anesthesia. He needed Amy.

* * *

**"** **Is there someone else? Just couldn't wait for that first notch on your bedpost, could you?"**

It was the only explanation. Someone else had come along and offered her a night of torrid lovemaking and inflamed loins. Why did Sheldon ever think Amy was patient? She wasn't patient at all. All she wanted was sex. Sex, sex, sex. He always knew sex was trouble. He should have listened to himself.

* * *

**"** **Okay, look, it's not my fault that she thought you were a bad boyfriend."**

There it went, the flap of his injured heart waving in the stiff breeze of Penny's tactless mouth. Sheldon tried to cover it with his palm, to hold himself together until he managed to reach his bedroom and slam the door before flopping facedown onto his bed.

Was he a bad boyfriend? He loved Amy. Granted, he didn't tell her every single time he saw her but he didn't want her to get egotistical; his mother always said that pride went before a fall. And with those clunky orthopedic shoes, Amy could really stumble and break something.

"I told her to be true to herself and do what makes her happy," Penny told him.

Who was Amy's true self, this self that he supposedly couldn't make happy?

Amy was allosexual. Sheldon had lost Amy because he was asexual and she was not.

The thought came with an unearthly sound from his chest, something Sheldon did not know he was capable of making. It was one thing to fling it out as an insult in the heat of pain, but it was another to feel the depth of the truth.

Not that she'd hidden the truth; the words had been uttered. She said it was too physically difficult to remain his girlfriend. It didn't matter what promises he made to her if she didn't believe them. It didn't matter what plans he made for them if she didn't know about them. And that was his fault. Almost a year ago he'd decided that he would be intimate with her, and he'd waited months to tell her and now even longer to act upon that decision. Even then, he was going to ask her for months more while they planned a wedding.

He was going to give her everything, had already mentally given her everything: his mind, his heart, and even his body. But she didn't know that. And now Amy had rejected him because she couldn't live with what he was. She couldn't live with what he _wasn't_. He fooled himself into believing that asexuality was a normal, if minor, subset of human sexual orientation. But Amy the biologist, an expert in biochemical reactions that influence one's emotions and actions, rejected that.

He wasn't normal. He was inadequate, lacking. He was flawed. He was subpar. He was a mutant. He wasn't a man.

Sheldon curled upon himself in the center of his bed and wept with an emotion even past agony.

* * *

**"** **Hey, you broke up with me. It is none of your business whose naked bosom I'm smooshing around like pizza dough."**

If he believed that psychiatry was real science, he would have known what he was doing. If he had ever read Elisabeth Kübler-Ross' book it would have sounded familiar. If he believed in theories without empirical evidence to support them, he might have felt justified. If Sheldon wanted to examine his actions for reason and use that self-examination to change his course, to be a better man, he would have.

If he realized that perhaps he should have shared with her that he'd experienced moments - fleeting, yes, but not forgotten - in which he wondered if he would actually enjoy certain components of intimacy. They could have discussed it, using Amy's vast knowledge of the brain, whether or not those thoughts were actual desire or mere scientific curiosity. If he'd ever considered being vulnerable enough in her presence to tell her those times frightened him, that they made him doubt if his asexuality was the solid armor he'd always considered it to be. If only Sheldon had been strong enough to admit that maybe some things were more fluid than he wanted. If only he'd stopped to consider that an honest conversation might be the start of the process of knitting them back together.

But he didn't. The low-hanging fruit was called that for a reason; so easy to pluck, almost as a reflex. He knew he had piercing blue eyes and a lithe body with inexplicable biceps. He knew he could move his hands in ways that would send masses of females quivering, a simple crook and curl of his finger. So if Amy was jealous of any future females in Sheldon's life, all the better. Perhaps then she would see what she'd tossed aside and ask for it back.

If Sheldon, with all his intelligence, had bothered to comprehend that he was bargaining to no avail for an alternative he didn't even want.

* * *

**"** **I'm not going to be your roommate, Sheldon."**

There was a time she wanted nothing more. There was a time Amy worked hard to prove to him she was worthy. There was a time he knew she would be the perfect roommate, even as he fought to ignore it. There was a time it was easier to disengage from her love, regardless of how that might have hurt her. There was a time he rejected her, frightened of the implications.

There was a time she was his.

* * *

**"** **Look, even if it's not him, Amy's probably going to date someone at some point."**

The flap of skin over Sheldon's heart tugged free. Leonard could not have struck a more precise and painful blow with his épée.

The very idea of others fluttering around Amy made his chest collapse. What hurt the most was that he could understand why. She was intelligent and funny and patient. She was beautiful and sexually vivacious and she deserved to have someone that just didn't acknowledge that about her, but instead acted upon it. She needed someone braver than he was, no matter how much it hurt his already pummeled heart.

Having not only survived but mastered a sporting event, flushed with the scent of his own perspiration and masculinity, Sheldon squared his shoulders and decided to be just as brave as the man Amy wanted. He would ask out some of these women at the sports bar to prove he was. Maybe his friends were correct, that he just needed someone else to smooth down the edges, to stitch him back together. Anyone would do.

He would put Amy behind him and move on. He would stop thinking about his dripping heart and his bad dreams. Sheldon would go home and lock up the ring and revert back to the way he was before he met Amy. A thinking man overcoming the shortcomings of his human heart. A strong man, fighting for logic over painful emotion. Not Data, for whom a reasoned existence came naturally.

Mr. Spock. Just as he thought he was all along.

* * *

**"** **Because when I speak at a regular volume, no one seems to believe me that I've put this Amy nonsense behind me."**

Sheldon sagged against his bed. Another thing in his life ruined. He had so wanted to be the voice of reason in Adam Nimoy's documentary, a scientist proving that there was a better path than emotions and all the sticky things they entailed, like love.

Spock was never sticky. He was always solid and firm and dry and certain. Spock never yelled or become over-emotional or ran from the room like an undisciplined toddler. Spock ignored his heart; both his rationale and his planet were dry deserts in a universe of sticky, perspiring tropical emotional forests.

* * *

**"** **I'm going to find her and ask her to marry me. And if she says yes, we can put this behind us and resume our relationship."**

Suddenly, Sheldon stopped on the stairs, one foot hovering in mid-air over the next step. He pulled it back and considered his current course of action. Was he being too rash? Sheldon patted his pockets to confirm he had his wallet and his bus pass, thinking that if he didn't that was surely a sign that this was a poorly planned endeavor. But he stopped when his hand brushed against the ring box; he removed and opened it. He stared down into the diamond, that antique stone that twinkled back at him, bright and captivating. Generations of women in his family wore this ring, through sickness and health, in good times and bad. They wore this ring to fight off Indians and to rock their babies. They wore this ring even when they argued with the man who gave it to them, and its power was such that they never removed even in the mist of a fight. And they were still wearing the ring once the arguement was resolved, and they made love again.

Perhaps the facets of the diamond hypnotized him because that type of love didn't seem so sticky any more. Or rather, it was sticky in the good way, like salt water taffy and Post-It notes and that string between Mr. Rochester and Jane Eyre. Sticky in a way that would glue his broken heart back together again.

How had Sheldon ever thought he could ignore his heart? Not just because it still hurt, but because it was still present, beating a mournful rhythm. His heart hadn't healed. Not in the least. Maybe, at times, it looked like it, the flap resting back over the top, crooked but present. But it was an ugly thing with rough, black stitches, each one sewn with pain, each one ripping a new gash in his flesh. A Frankenstein of an organ. But he only had the ring and this scarred, bloody piece of himself to give.

His previous decision affirmed, Sheldon put the ring back in his pocket and went to catch the bus.

* * *

**"** **How could I have been so foolish to try and follow in the footsteps of a made-up alien race with no emotions?"**

He held it together until the bus stop, and then the emotions came crashing down upon him, so much so that he leaned over, one hand on his knees and the other grasping his chest, all the stitches gone now.

"Sir, are you alright?" a woman on the bench asked. "Are you having a heart attack?"

Sheldon managed to shake his head. "No. I just saw the woman I was going to marry kissing another man."

"Oh! Is there . . . is there someone I can call for you?" she asked, waving the cell phone in her hand.

Worried that she was just going to keep asking him questions, Sheldon struggled to stand. "No. It's fine. I'm - I'm just going to walk home."

The first few yards, he concentrated on just breathing and not collapsing. In the past, he would have tried Kolinahr breathing as his calming method of choice. But that only reminded him of sleeping wrapped around Amy. Instead, he settled on Keethera, another Vulcan meditation technique that involved visualizing building a structure from various sized and shaped blocks. A cross between Tetris and Legos, as it were. It seemed like it would be easy on the streets of Glendale; he could take the shape of one building and use it to build on the next. Just one step in front of the other, just one building on top of another.

There was the movie theater . . . where he'd seen many a movie with Amy. There was the hobby store closest to her apartment; not as good as his usual train store but the one at which Amy was more willing to join him. The grocery store where she shopped. Over the rise was the coffee shop where they met.

At the next corner was another bus stop, thankfully empty, and Sheldon collapsed down on the bench to wait, Keethera abandoned, worthless against the torrent of his anguish.

* * *

**"** **No, I need a new woman in my life to ignore so I can hyper-focus on my work again."**

Keethera, Kolinahr, and all other Vulcans trappings were bogus. Even Mr. Spock was probably a fraud. Sheldon had been emulating the wrong character. It should have been Data all along. By associating with Spock, a man who struggled and sometimes failed to control his emotions, Sheldon was only allowing that sort of indecision and collapse into his own life.

But Data had no such struggles and failures. Not until that pesky emotion chip came along and ruined him. Earth was almost destroyed by the Borg because of emotions, a lesson Data learned so that he could pass it along to Sheldon. Sheldon needed something useless to ignore and struggle against, a Borg queen to focus his energy toward defeating. As in all the best _Star Trek_ plots, the Borg queen was defeated with science.

There would only be the new woman to pester him and his drive to simultaneously best her and progress physics at the same time. He would be his own android role model, functioning at peak capacity, focusing only on his success.

No room left for thoughts of one Amy Farrah Fowler at all.

* * *

**"** **All I'm looking for is an educated, intelligent woman who shares my interests while retaining her own unique point of view. She should be kind, patient, and most important, unable to imagine life without me by ten o'clock tonight."**

That was it, that was the entirety of his criteria: educated, intelligent, shared common interests, a unique point of view, kind, and patient. Six items, no more. Simple.

This yet-to-be-met perfect girlfriend could open his life to new experiences. She didn't have to be able to recite Chaucer in the original Middle English, although Sheldon found the tones dulcet to his sensitive ears. An interest in monkeys was unimportant, although he appreciated hearing the stories of their antics. She could be obsessed with any television show other than _Little House on the Prairie_ , although he had to admit that once he gave it a chance, he found it was quaint. She didn't have to understand the rules of Counterfactuals, although Sheldon missed a good sparing partner. Certainly, he would not wish her to have night terrors, although he'd never had the opportunity to use the soothing techniques he had practiced. It would be best if she didn't speak Op, because he wasn't fluent and he didn't want to be upstaged, even if he admired the ability to create a new language out of thin air. It would easier to find a restaurant or visit Urgent Care if she wasn't allergic to avocados or penicillin, but then what would he do with the EpiPen he carried in his bag? It was perfectly fine if she didn't care for Neil Diamond, although perhaps she could come to appreciate how right it felt to cut a groove to his beats. And he most definitely didn't care if she preferred optical spectroscopy over mass spectroscopy or not; it would keep him from reliving that evening a week prior to their break-up over and over in his mind.

* * *

**"** **She was late. And she found atomic spectroscopy boring. Well, I wouldn't coitus her with your genitals."**

Atomic spectroscopy had been their downfall. More even than _The Flash._ He thought. As each week without Amy passed, Sheldon's mind turned back more and more to the night of the atomic spectroscopy. It had been the week before she broke up with him, and its importance grew in Sheldon's mind.

"That was a big sigh," Amy had said, bringing him a mug of tea. It started so innocently. Sheldon took it but then immediately sat it down next to his laptop.

"I'm trying to get a slot with the Beckerman Institute mass spectrometer, but they're claiming I'm only an occasional user so I have to pay a fee."

Amy sat down next to him and peered at the screen over his shoulder. "What are their guidelines for occasional use?"

"Get this: the website doesn't say. They probably just shake a Magic Eight ball when they get a request." He shook his head.

"Well, when did you last use it?"

"October 8, 2008. No loyalty, I tell you!"

"But if it's for your research, can't you use your grant money? Just log it in your expenses."

Sheldon sighed. "It's not for my research. Leonard bought generic toothpaste because it was on sale, and I need to determine if there are Chinese toxins in it."

"Ooookay." Amy took a drink from her tea as her eyebrows settled. "You know, Bert has a standing weekly appointment at the Mineral Spectroscopy Lab. He doesn't use it every week. I bet he'd give you the time if you asked nicely."

"Phhhffffffft!" He looked over at her in disbelief. "Optic spectrometry? Are you serious? And it's in the Mineral Lab! With geologists scattering around like the cockroaches of science."

Her lips pulled down into an expression he often choose to ignore. Which made sense, because he suspected she used it when she was trying to ignore something herself. "Why not optic spectrometry? Surely you're smart enough to determine if anything needs reconfigured. Bert would probably even help you."

"Amy," Sheldon took a deep breath, "I'm going to overlook the obvious shortcomings of your suggestion because you're not a physicist. It's well known that mass spectrometry gives significantly better analytical data than optic spectrometry."

"Which makes it more expensive to purchase the equipment. That's probably why the Beckerman Lab charges and the Mineral Lab doesn't."

"Optical spectrometry is not exact; instead, it's a mere deduction based on changes in light wavelength and intensity. It's like asking Sherlock Holmes to solve your physics problem."

"Which he could do quite adequately, I would think."

"Yeah, if you want your ionizer to be a magnifying glass. That'll work."

"Beer's law was developed in the 18th-century," she said with shrug. "I suspect Mr. Holmes was familiar with the concept."

"Oh, now, I suppose you're going to tell me geometric optics is superior to physical optics." Sheldon slammed his laptop shut and turned toward her.

"If by superior, you mean more practical with daily applications, then, yes."

"Listen to yourself, woman! It's like you have no use for electromagnetic optics!"

"And do you? Other than toothpaste, I mean?"

Sheldon pulled his head back. "Since when are oral hygiene and health not useful, nay vital? Without it, one's teeth get loose and fall out."

"That's scurvy from a vitamin C deficiency, not generic toothpaste." She was shouting now.

"And how does one diagnosis scurvy? Using X-rays, a form of electromagnetic radiation! I rest my case." Sheldon crossed his arms in victory.

Amy stared back at him, her face firm and her nostrils flaring slightly from the battle. Her eyes glittered like hard but bright stones, her eyebrows set in determination. Her next words were sharp, punctuated. "Are you going to kiss me or any I going to have to slap you?"

Wanting to kiss her since she defended Sherlock Holmes, Sheldon scrambled to meet her hot, angry lips. Those lips, that had tripped and danced nimbly from topic to topic, literature and optics and atomic spectroscopy, switching first one direction and them back as he watched like he was watching the twitch of her tail feathers. He'd never felt this way before: so angry at her, so triumphant in his arguments, so, so . . . was he aroused? Oh, yes, definitely, he was. Lost somewhere in the heat of her tongue, in the throbbing of his body, it occurred to him this must be what desire felt like. The need to be both right and wrong, so deliciously wrong, at the same time.

He pressed closer with his body, leaning over her, and Amy moaned into his mouth. Slicing through the haze came a single yell: _Not like this!_ Just like that the feeling, whatever it was, evaporated.

"I don't want this," it came tumbling out of his mouth as he pushed her away.

"Sheldon?" Her words were sharp, and her lips were glistening with traces of his saliva.

Standing quickly, he grabbed his laptop to cover his crotch and started toward the door.

"Where are you going? What happened?" Amy scrambled to get up off the loveseat.

"It's fine, Amy. I just need to go. I - I don't know. Goodnight." He slammed the door to her apartment shut before she could follow him. Only once he was certain she wasn't chasing him, he stopped and leaned against the wall in the empty hallway. That was exactly why he should have been thinking about something else. Who was that monster? The loss of control almost sickened him. If that moment of craving was sexual desire, how would he ever manage to make love to Amy in a gentlemanly fashion?

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	9. Chapter 9

**"** **I know you've been seeing other men. Have you had coitus with any of them?"**

Isn't that what a friend would ask? It's what his friends asked each other all the time. No, that wasn't true. They usually volunteered the information without being asked.

Sheldon wanted to know because he felt the need to confirm the primary reason for Amy's break-up. But he also didn't want to know. What if she said yes? What if she'd given her virginity to another man? Of course it was bound to happen someday. As a friend he wanted to her be happy, and he knew all of her good qualities better than anyone else.

But when she said no, he didn't know how to feel. Relieved as expected? Yes. But not as relieved as it seemed like he should be, and not vindicated, either. He felt . . . He didn't know the word. Hope felt like too great a thing, like an emotion from a previous life, a life that didn't want him anymore.

Still confused, he lied and said he was alright.

* * *

**"** **Amy, I excel at many things, but getting over you wasn't one of them."**

He was still raw, with barest of new skin growing over his heart. It was pink and puckered and shiny and not strong enough to withstand any pressure or tug. It was not true that time healed all wounds; rather, Sheldon had devoted a great deal of effort to forcing this one to start healing. He'd tried almost everything his friends suggested, he'd tried being a Vulcan, he tried being an android, and, in the end, the only thing that worked was squaring his shoulders, taking a deep breath, and facing the truth.

He failed at being a boyfriend, at least in part because he failed at finding sexual intimacy desirable, and he failed at getting over Amy.

Admitting that, that all the other silly things he'd tried didn't work, somehow seemed to be the first step. He forced himself to go back to his old habits without either avoiding or purposely wading through the memories. It's why he agreed to go with Amy to the Thanksgiving meal at the aquarium; because that had been the plan months ago and he needed to get on with his life as scheduled. He would still see Amy periodically, as she remained close to his circle, especially Penny and Bernadette, so it seemed like the mature thing to do. He needed to reform the collagen of his life. Amy's presence would have a different texture and quality than before, but at least the gaping wound would be covered. A pit would remain from the loss of her support structure, but at least he could move forward.

* * *

**"** **I think I need to just be your friend."**

He'd done the right thing. He was certain. Sheldon knew he wasn't emotionally capable of going through another evening spent sobbing in his bed or another tear-obscured heart attack at a bus stop. He wasn't any good at getting over her because he still wasn't over her. He may never be over her. A part of him never wanted to be over her.

For once, his friends were correct. He was certain. He needed to find ways to move on, maybe even in time he'd be open to a new relationship. Maybe, with time, he'd find someone else with whom to consider coitus. Never mind that the thought made him nauseous right now. That would pass with time. He was certain. Or maybe he'd re-embrace his asexual status and wear it proudly, flaunting purple-and-gray stripes on his Instagram account for all to see instead of feeling conflicted and subpar about it. #asexualpride. Amy would be supportive of that. He was certain.

Later, living on Mars, he would smile with gentle fondness when he received his friend Amy's annual Christmas communication packet from Earth. He'd laugh at the antics of her children as they made cookies. He was certain. Christmas on the red planet wouldn't remind him of how she made him MeeMaw's cookies once. The distance between them would heal him. He was certain.

One day as an old man, he would receive his Nobel Prize after changing the world of physics, having achieved his life's goal, and he'd look out and see his friend Amy in the audience. But her smile and her applause wouldn't hurt by then. He was certain. Afterwards, maybe they'd go for a walk in the snow of Stockholm and talk like old friends and nothing else. No one would ever be a match for him in a debate like his friend Amy. A boy/girl friendship of the mind. He was certain.

Sheldon reached up and brushed a stray, lone tear off his cheek.

* * *

**"** **It's about how she made my life better. Consider the lyrics: 'I was living like half a man/Then I couldn't love, but now I can/You give me more soul than I ever had/I love the way you soften my life."**

His feet pummeled the pavement and his lungs ached from the effort. Sheldon couldn't miss this bus, so he ran faster, one protesting leg in front of the other. He had nothing to lose. For without Amy he was a man without a soul, a man missing his best half, and he had no choice but to try and reclaim what he'd lost. Everything was too sharp without her, even the edges of his brain. He never thought he'd be able to love someone as he loved her, that he'd never be able to bring himself to prove that love physically, tangibly, but now he knew he could. All because of Amy. He'd been a square peg, and she had rounded him with her love, softening those edges day-by-day until they fit perfectly.

* * *

**"** **Kiss her, you brilliant fool!"**

Amy, beautiful, patient Amy was his again. She was in his life again, to soften its edges, to support him and smile with him, to love him more than he deserved.

* * *

**"** **Get back here!"**

She pulled him back, and Sheldon dove back into her apartment, back into her arms. He couldn't remember a time in his life he wanted something as badly as he wanted that kiss, as he wanted Amy. She wasn't just accepting the return of her boyfriend, it felt like she was emotionally pulling him back into her life as well as physically.

He didn't think of anything else during this kiss and he didn't want to. He might never again. He devoted his entire mind to Amy, just as he devoted his entire heart and life to her. Now, focusing only on her and the kiss, he realized it emphasized how perfectly they fit together, even physically. The small of Amy's back was just the perfectly sized cradle for his palm. The narrowness of her shoulders was perfect for the length of his arm, and he could enfold her completely in an embrace. Her hand cupped his shoulder perfectly. Even their height difference was ideal; he could protect her and shield her from anything that might threaten to harm her. It only followed that they'd also fit perfectly when naked and entwined in the absolute act of physical joining.

Sheldon only broke the kiss because he couldn't breathe. It turned out oxygen was just as important as Amy. He hated oxygen in that moment.

"I love you," he repeated.

"I love you, too." Amy leaned forward again, her arms still firmly around his shoulders.

"I'm going to have coitus with you."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Right now?"

"Oh." Sheldon licked his lipped and glanced around her apartment. He hadn't considered that in his run out the door, but it was logical question, he supposed. Amy broke up with him because she didn't think he would have coitus, he just told her he would, and thus she assumed he meant right now. It wasn't how he planned it, with both of them having time to fully contemplate and to prepare for a special night; but he wanted Amy back in every way possible, wholly and completely, and being sexually intimate was one of those ways. "Oh. Um, I hadn't considered it. Oh, dear, I'm already ruining this." He shook his head. "I meant soon. I am ready. I think. I - I just don't know - But if you consider it essential -"

Her hand on his cheek interrupted him. She smiled softly up at him. "Not tonight, Sheldon." Her thumb brushed along his zygomatic arch and he hoped she didn't feel him sag with relief followed immediately by guilt. "I don't want that tonight. I just want you to hold me tonight. I think we should talk first and take a little time to get used to being a couple again, don't you?"

"I would love to hold you."

She pulled him toward the couch, and Sheldon leaned back to wrap his arms around her, helping her rest against his chest. The weight of her head was the iron his heart needed, the flap of skin smoothing and straightening and setting in just the right position, the torn edges matching like a puzzle.

"I know you broke up with me because you thought I'd never have coitus with you, and I want you to know I will. I promise. But I need time to plan it."

Her hand toyed with the edge of shirt. "We don't have to talk about it just yet. Really."

"Yes, we do." Perhaps he said it so forcefully that it sounded as though he was angry, because Amy pulled slowly out of his arm to look up at him, her eyes quizzical. "Amy, I need to explain something to you. About . . . coitus. I mean, about me."

"Okay." She put her head back down and Sheldon took a deep breath. He couldn't decide if it would be easier to see her face as he told her or not. But this way, at least, he was holding her.

"That night - the night we broke up - you were angry because you thought I was distracted while kissing you -"

"We don't -"

"Let me finish. Let me explain. The truth is that I _was_ distracted. On purpose." He paused. "Amy, I've been purposefully distracting myself when I kiss you, deeply kiss you, ever since the prom. If you recall, I became so aroused that night that I was embarrassed. I was fearful of it happening again. I discovered that if I devoted a small part of my brain to something unrelated and mundane I could temper my physical response."

"Oh, Sheldon, I told you it's nothing to be embarrassed about." Her hand rubbed his bicep.

"That wasn't it. Partially it was practical; what if someone walked in on us? But also I was afraid that - that one thing would lead to another and that we'd have some kind of accidental coitus."

"And you don't want that."

"No, of course not. Do you?"

"No. I want it to be special."

"Remember . . . remember that other night that we fought about atomic spectroscopy and - and I pushed you away and left? It was part of the reason you broke up with me, too, wasn't it?"

She nodded against his chest and then whispered, "I tried to ignore it, to move past it. But I just kept hearing what you said, that you didn't want that. And then, when you asked about _The Flash_ . . . I couldn't figure out what was wrong, at first you seemed like you wanted to continue but then you told me you didn't. And then the next time, on our anniversary, you didn't act as eager, and I thought that it seemed like you didn't even want to be there."

"I understand that now." He pressed gently against her shoulder and she tucked herself back under his arm. "I did want you to be there, Amy. I always do. But the night of the fight, I forgot to think of something else to distract myself. I got carried away and very aroused again and then you made that little noise . . . Amy, I was afraid - am afraid - that I'd lose control, that biology will just take over, and that our first time will end too quickly and that you won't enjoy it. That I might even hurt you."

"I know you'd never hurt me."

"Not willingly, no, but what if . . . just because I'm asexual doesn't mean my body doesn't respond. And, if I'm doing it for your pleasure, it needs to be pleasurable."

Amy pulled completely out of his arms and sat up, looking at him intently. "I appreciate that. I know you're capable of sexual arousal. But I also know what kind of man you are, and, for someone who thinks so highly of himself, you're being uncharacteristically unrealistic. You're one of the most controlled persons I know. I have no worries about your intentions or your behavior when we're intimate."

Why hadn't he discussed with her sooner? Well, it was because she got all angry and yelled and ran out of his apartment, that's why. But he should have called her sooner or insisted that she allow him to finish speaking on the video call or -

"But, Sheldon, listen to me. Very carefully," Amy continued, her face even more serious than before, which he would not have thought possible. "I also don't want you to feel pressured into something you don't want to do, something that makes you feel out of control. If you're going to have coitus with me only because you're afraid I'll break up with you again without sex -"

Sheldon opened his mouth but Amy put a hand up to stop him from speaking. "If that's the only reason, that's not fair to you." She took a deep breath. "I decided, that day we went to the aquarium, when I asked you back, that it's okay with me if we're not intimate, at least not on that level. I realized when we where apart that what I missed most was your personality, your conversation. All relationships involve compromises, and this will be mine. And how can I really miss sex if I never have it? I'll just satisfy my urges, um, on my own." She blushed and glanced away.

It took Sheldon a moment to process that information. Amy was offering him a sexless relationship. He hadn't expected that. He knew her well enough to know it was not an offer she took lightly. He shook his head. "I know you genuinely believe that right now, and your offer makes me love you even more. But I don't think you could do that, Amy. I mean, look at me, I'm a walking centerfold. And I don't _want_ you to do that."

"I don't want to threaten your sexuality."

"You're not. I made my decision." He reached for and squeezed her hand. "I want to have coitus with you. Not for the act itself, that's true, but because I love you, and I want tell you and show you that in every way possible."

"Really and truly?"

"Really and truly. I want it to be special, too. And soon, I promise." Amy grinned and threw herself back into his chest with tight squeeze. "I hope I didn't ruin this beautiful night by bringing this up, I just know that lack of communication about our physical needs was one of our problems and I don't want it to happen again."

"You didn't. Not at all. This is good. We needed to talk." There was a lengthy pause as she toyed with side of his tee shirt, and Sheldon understood what it meant for such a thing to be pregnant. He could feel the silence grow round and tight as words formed inside of Amy, and he knew that what she said next would be painful, a difficult labor. "Sheldon, your . . . actions about kissing and coitus was part of the reason I broke up with you, but not the only reason. You know that, right?"

"Will you tell me the rest?" he asked, wrapping the end of her tresses around his index finger.

"It might be hard to hear."

"No harder than it was to bear."

And so Sheldon sat and listened without interruption as Amy listed his faults; she was hesitant and she did an admirable job with tact, but they were still character flaws. He winced, glad she couldn't see him. But he gladly withstood it. For one of the few times in their relationship - maybe even the very first time in five and half years - he truly listened to what Amy told him. He needed to know how to become the man worthy of her love. Each word pierced, it was true, but the piercing of a needle pulling the thread that was stitching his heart back together, invisible and smooth.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Finally! Writing these last two chapters almost killed me all over again.** _

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	10. Chapter 10

**"** **Intimacy in any form has been challenging for me, but I'd like to show her how important she is, and it feels like now might be the right time. Amy's birthday present will be my genitals."**

At first, he could not recall the exact second he made the decision and this lapse in his memory worried him until he realized that this decision was inherent to and bond up tightly together with the same one that drove him to her door to beg her to take him back.

Ultimately, though, the timing did not matter for the fact was that Sheldon knew exactly what he would give Amy for her birthday. The other two options were only misdirections, part of his clever ruse so that it wasn't be quite so obvious why he'd gone to talk to Penny and Bernadette that evening.

Sheldon calculated a 98.7% probability that Amy would say yes, that she'd be thrilled with his gift. But 98.7% was not 100%, and, although it pained him to admit it, it was feasible that Amy's friends might know of a reason she would decline, a reason she had never shared with him. Or perhaps Amy did not feel a week had been long enough for them to reestablish themselves as a couple. Telling her friends first would give them the opportunity to explain to him any possible objections before he embarrassed himself. Additionally, he wanted Amy to be primed for their coupling. He himself planned an extra shower that evening, and it was only logical Amy would want to do the same. He knew how much she valued preparedness. As a female, she'd probably want to apply extra lip gloss or something. Plus, he remembered how shocked and frightened he'd been on their prom night - and to a lesser extent last week; how conflicted and uncomfortable he'd been with the idea of making love when he wasn't ready yet. He didn't want to put Amy in that position.

Fortunately, he could use their friends' inability to keep secrets to his advantage. Sheldon would tell Penny and Bernadette, giving them an opportunity to dissuade him, if necessary. Then Penny and Bernadette would tell Amy, giving her time to raise any previously-silent objection she may be harboring, if such existed. Then Penny and Bernadette would relay this change in situation back to Sheldon, if such a change was discovered, and he'd instigate his back-up plan in time to give Amy the delightful birthday she deserved.

No dissuading, objections, or changes offered, though, the evening in question came up far more rapidly than Sheldon imagined it would. Other than Penny winking at him every time she saw him that day and Leonard's lost asthma inhaler, the day passed as any other. At the appointed time, Sheldon gathered his clean clothes and went to the bathroom for his planned pre-coital shower.

What he saw on the bathroom vanity stopped him in his tracks. He picked up the unexpected box and carried it out to the kitchen, where Leonard was making an early dinner to supplement the movie popcorn he would eat later.

"Leonard?" Sheldon asked. "Why did you leave a box of condoms out by the sink? Is it because you need to return them? This size is entirely too large for you."

"How would you know?" Leonard grumbled as he assembled his sandwich, although he blushed.

"Remember, in the Arctic, when we were all naked? I saw your -"

"I bought them for you while I was at the pharmacy getting my inhaler," Leonard interrupted. "For tonight. I figured it was less embarrassing than taking you to buy them."

"Oh." Somehow, in his plans, he hadn't considered that Penny would tell Leonard. He rolled his eyes and put the package on the island. "Well, no need. Amy has been on birth control to regulate her menses for over three years now. And we don't carry any sexually transmitted diseases to guard against; we discuss all of our health parameters annually or when there is a significant change." Leaving the box, he turned back toward the bathroom.

"It may help you last longer," Leonard mumbled, and Sheldon pivoted on his heel to see his friend taking a bite of his sandwich.

"Do you think my performance will be subpar?"

"I think your performance will be similar to mine and every other man's first time: mind-blowing but too short. Like me." He smiled at the end.

"I have plans to aid in my endurance. For example, I'm about to take a shower in which I intend to -"

Leonard put his hand up. "No specifics, please." Then he stepped closer and took a deep breath. "But, you know, if you have any questions, man to man, I guess I could answer them."

"I understand the mechanics," Sheldon said, just like he had in his dream.

"Sure. But, well, you know . . . the other stuff?"

"The other stuff?"

"It's a very important and emotional event, Sheldon. If not for you, because you're a robot, then at least for Amy."

Sheldon sat down on a stool. He considered telling Leonard that his entire reason for doing this was for Amy's emotions. But that wasn't true. He loved Amy, and, yes, he was doing this as the ultimate display of his love for her, but the truth was it was very emotional for him, too. However, even now, at this late hour, those emotions were too tangled to sort and verbalize.

"If it's with the right person, it will be alright," Sheldon said. "And Amy is definitely the right person. More than that, she's the only person."

His friend gave him that goofy smile he was overly fond of and punched him gently on the shoulder, which Sheldon recognized as a form of male bonding that Leonard enjoyed. Instead of replying, Sheldon grabbed the box of condoms and went to the bathroom. Just in case.

* * *

 **"** **This is an important night for us, and I'm worried I might be overwhelmed and ruin everything."**

Sheldon knew he could talk a good game when he needed to. Plus, Leonard was so simple minded, he was easy to fool. But Professor Proton in a Jedi's robes was another matter altogether. He had the power of both science and The Force, and Sheldon wasn't sure exactly what that would do to his brain if he lied. The truth was he was frightened. Not of the steps to take, those he understood.

But what if . . . what if, having made this life-changing decision, he got to a pivotal moment and discovered, not just that sexual intimacy didn't interest him but that it also . . . repulsed him? What if . . . what if he saw something that turned his stomach? The vulva was especially fraught with land mines. There was the clitoris, essential to a woman's physical satisfaction, so why was it hidden behind so many folds? And so far away from the action? And why was there so much natural variation on the arrangement of the labia, a disturbing fact that the websites he studied during private browsing sessions never failed to remind him. And he understood that the female vulva could be quite odiferous. Why were the genitals so close to one's urethra? What if . . . what if Amy wanted him to engage in . . . cunnilingus?

He could say no to something, of course. Amy wouldn't force him. But he was doing this for her and he wanted to give her everything she not only desired but deserved.

Just as concerning was that troubling night on her loveseat, when, for just a moment, he'd felt something strong and undeniable. What if . . . what if that happened again and he got too caught up it, unable to control himself? What if . . . what if he went too fast, pushed too hard? What if - and the very thought parched his mouth - he inadvertently hurt her? He was given to understand it would be at least uncomfortable for her anyway, but what if it was worse than that?

That terrified him the most. What if his brain chemistry chose that exact moment to allow him to feel something other than asexual?

* * *

 **"** **Sheldon, I know your present is for us to be intimate tonight."**

"I love you," he murmured at the end of yet another kiss. Sheldon had not tired of using it every time they came up for air, he had not tired of saying it every day since he'd returned to her, and he could not imagine ever tiring of saying it daily in the future.

"I love you, too," she replied and grinned at him.

His plan had worked admirably, and Amy was both pleased with and prepared for their physical interaction this evening. Sheldon tried to act surprised she knew, which he didn't think he did well, but maybe his words had been vague enough to hide his knowledge.

"Sheldon?" Amy asked, lowering her arms to hold his hands. "I know that you asked for my consent, but I have not asked for yours."

Tilting his head, Sheldon considered this. "Of course I consent. It's my gift to you. I'm initiating it."

"I know. And I'm so happy right now -"

"Me, too," Sheldon interjected.

"But are you looking forward to it? I just want to make sure you've planned as much as you felt you needed to."

"I am, although probably not as much as you," he admitted. "I have concerns, of course. But I'm prepared, mind and body. And I'm extremely curious." Amy smiled at that. "There's no one else with whom I'd ever considered satisfying this particular curiosity."

Amy grinned again and leaned forward. "Should we go to the bedroom, then?"

"I brought condoms," Sheldon blurted out. "Oh, that wasn't romantic. Just trying to prove how prepared I was."

"It's okay. But I don't think we need them. Do we?"

"I - I've heard they may prolong my performance. And I want it to be as special for you as you are to me."

She shook her head and brushed her hand down his cheek. "Feeling just you . . . like that . . . it's all I need for it to be special. I don't ever want any barriers between us again."

"No barriers," Sheldon agreed with a whisper as Amy lips brushed his. "Do you want to read the non-disclosure agreement first or just sign it?"

* * *

 **"** **Well, I enjoyed that more than I thought I would."**

It was Amy stirring that awoke him, and Sheldon mumbled as she rolled off of him, "What time is it?"

"Shhh, I didn't mean to wake you," she answered instead. "I'm just going to the bathroom; I should have gone right after."

But he sat up to watch her get out of bed, feeling the prickly rush of blood back into his arm again. A quick glance at her alarm clock surprised him, for it was not the middle of the night he expected based on the depth and oblivion of his slumber; rather, it was only a little over an hour since everything had changed.

"Alright," he said, unsure what the proper response was. He, too, understood why it was recommended that females urinate immediately after coitus but he had not suggested this to her at the time. Was that a failure of protocol on his part?

Amy turned at the door, still naked, and asked, "Would you like a shower?"

"Oh. Yes, please." A shower felt not just enjoyable but necessary. His hand felt sticky and his hip itched, too, no doubt from where Amy had thrown her leg over him as they slept.

"Can you wait for me to call you?"

"Of course."

His girlfriend nodded and left him alone in her bed, waiting for her for the second time in one evening. Darkness and isolation led to introspection.

It had not gone as he expected. He had thought so much about his role in the proceedings that he was embarrassed to realize he had not thought much about Amy's. She had spoken more than he imagined, soft murmurings, gentle suggestions, guiding words. It was she who suggested that perhaps they continue kissing lying down, embarrassing Sheldon that he hadn't suggested it himself. They could be closer that way, their bodes pressed together. He toyed his fingertips along her hip, over her nightgown, both shy and not wanting to rush anything. It was Amy that placed his hand over her breast. Within a minute, a thousand questions he'd had since the night of the bath were answered.

Her soft voice made him feel safe and he explored her body slowly, over the thin fabric, discovering curves and valleys, thrilling over her broad hips and gulping over her ample buttocks when he realized there didn't seem to be any underpants beneath. It was Amy who was brave enough to disrobe first, and Sheldon alternated between watching her nude self fold her nightgown and looking away to give her privacy. This time, it was skin beneath his fingers, and he snaked softly over all he could reach. Except, other than a smooth trail up her inner thigh, he shied away from her genitals. He didn't want to do it wrong, to harm her or to ruin the experience by feeling something there that prevented him from proceeding further. Best to stay away from the ultimate mystery for now. If Amy noticed his reluctance and was disappointed, she didn't let it show. Instead, it was she who asked if he would suckle her breasts, and he did so even though he couldn't understand why until her body arched beneath his lips and an exquisite sound he'd never heard before came from her throat. But it was not to be the first time he heard it.

And Amy touched him more than he imagined. After he'd divested himself of his underpants, she asked and he allowed her to inspect his body in return, and she smoothed her palm over almost every inch of him, studying him, and, he thought, appreciating him, just as he had done for her. Sheldon tried not to tense against her sheets, but perhaps he did because she looked up and asked permission to touch his penis. After a pause, he nodded, but he should not have been afraid. Amy's touch was gentle, just enough to make him gasp as his erection hardened further, to the point it throbbed with a sweet ache and it released a drop of fluid at the tip. She tried to bite away her smile with her teeth, but it was clear she enjoyed the effect. Since the goal of this evening was to show appreciation for her, he had not anticipated the reverse or how wonderful it felt to be worshiped.

Between her face and his aching member, he suddenly felt the need to whisper, "Amy, I think I'm ready. I mean, if you are."

Amy paused to look into his eyes, and, for a panicked second, Sheldon wondered if she'd be the one to change her mind. But then she nodded and relaxed back on the bed for him. Two awkward things happened next: the ungraceful shuffling and adjusting of their legs, and then his clumsy fumbling between their bodies before Amy reached down to help him.

Suddenly, with her aid, Sheldon found himself inside of her, at least the very tip of his penis, and Amy cut the silence with a single word, "Slowly."

Closely his eyes and taking several deep breaths, Sheldon pushed forward, until he was almost fully sheathed, but stopping when he heard Amy whimper. His eyes popped open to find hers tightly closed. "Amy? Is it too painful?"

"No, it's just, um, uncomfortable. I expected it."

He matched his breathing to hers, holding himself still on his elbows, watching her face relax. Then she opened her eyes and looked up at him; they were clearer and brighter than he ever remembered. "I never thought I'd get to feel you inside of me."

"I never thought you would, either."

She smiled at that, and that's when he knew it would be alright. He hadn't expected that either, to be sure at any point let alone near the beginning of copulation. Feeling that he had ascertained her status with that smile, Sheldon pulled back slowly and returned, watching her carefully for any signs of lingering discomfort. He knew the female vagina was capable of adjusting itself to the necessary size, but he had not imagined the size would be so accurate: smooth enough to ease his passage but tight enough to provide a most delicious friction.

More confident, he discovered more he had not anticipated as he continued. He was surprised when she clung to him, pulling him down tight so that he could feel her breasts between them. She ran her hands up and down his spine in a possessive fashion. He concentrated on the pace he'd mastered in the shower, silently counting out the duration and monitoring the speed of each thrust and withdrawal, but he had not counted on the soft puffs of air against his neck, the way Amy's reactions were so in sync with his rhythms. Years of practice had taught him how to steady his breath, how to bite back the sounds of his own pleasure, and yet he almost became lost in a trance of those soft mews rolling from her throat. After several practice sessions in the shower, he thought he'd mastered the timing, but he had not anticipated how quickly he would be undone by Amy's breath and scent and those fingers dancing down his spine, just like she was strumming her harp. And, oh, the little calluses on her fingertips! Far sooner than he planned, he climaxed and it was not smooth or silent, but rather he heard some sort of strangled, gurgling sound from his own throat.

When his pleasure drained away, as quickly as it came, he looked down at her and she smiled so beautifully at him. He felt ashamed. She _had_ overwhelmed him and he _had_ ruined it. "You didn't orgasm," he whispered. "I was too fast. I should have used a condom."

"Oh, Sheldon. I told you I didn't want the condom; I just wanted you." Amy reached up for his cheek even as his body slipped away from her. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," he protested. "This is your birthday gift and I wanted it to be the best possible version it could be. I wanted it to be OLED, not a cathode ray tube; _The Avengers,_ not _Justice League_ \- "

"Stop," Amy said softly. "I loved it just the way it was. Truly. But, if you want me to orgasm, there's still time."

Her next suggestion was not surprising given the arrangement of female anatomy; Sheldon wished he had been brave enough to do it sooner, especially when he realized how much messier the area was now than before. But he'd meant what he said, about giving her the best possible experience, so he tried not to think too much about what was lubricating the path of his hand. There was a reason he only masturbated in the shower. Another part of his body had just been there, and he'd survived that. At first, Amy helped him, whispering instructions, but then those were lost in her heavy breaths and the way she clung to him again, so much so that when she cried out and thrashed her head around, with deep, throaty, raspy bellow such as Sheldon had never imagined, her fingernails dug painfully into his shoulders.

It was not what he expected at all, but her reaction was so sublime that he immediately forgot about the fear and the sweat and even the semen covering his fingers. When she fell back against the pillow, still panting, he stretched out next to her, reached for her hand between them, and told her so.

But now he couldn't wait for Amy to call him so that he could wash away the bodily fluids left behind. In the dim light, he could even make out a dark circle on the sheet where Amy laid, and his nose wrinkled at the thought of sleeping on top of that.

Just then, he heard his name on her voice and he only paused to chide himself for not packing a bag. But, just as Amy had done, he walked naked toward the bathroom.

She smiled when he entered and held out a stack of fabric for him. The shower was already running and the mirror over the vanity was starting to fog up in the heat. "Here. A clean towel and washcloth," Amy explained. "There's a brand new bar of soap in the shower and you can use my shampoo if you want." Sheldon took the bundle from her as she continued, "And there's a new pair of pajamas on top. I know how partial you are to red plaid."

Sheldon glanced down. "But these are Scotch plaid and I usually wear Mackintosh plaid."

"Well, then, consider them your come-hither pajamas," Amy said, and Sheldon looked back to see her grinning.

She was wearing her pink robe, and it occurred to Sheldon that she wasn't planning on showering with him. It was a disappointing thought. He loved the afterwards of everything the most, and, although falling asleep with Amy wrapped around him was wonderful, they'd both fallen asleep too quickly for him to relish the afterwards the way he wanted. Plus, he enjoyed being naked with her, just as he once wondered if they could be, knowing they could be that comfortable and vulnerable with each other. He found he would like to be naked with her again, just for that soft honesty if for nothing else.

"Very well. I'll be brief."

"Don't rush. Take your time." Then she turned and walked out of the bathroom, turning in the door way to give a tiny wave.

After his shower - truly one of the best of his life - he put on the pajamas and padded back to the bedroom just in time to see Amy slipping into a freshly made bed, the sheets a pale pink as opposed to the cream patterned ones that had been on the bed earlier.

"You changed the sheets," Sheldon said as he climbed in next to her.

"I thought you might prefer clean ones," Amy replied as she turned off the light and they both slid under the covers.

Overcome with gratitude and emotions he did not know the name for, he reached for her, hugging her as tightly as he could. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair.

"You're welcome. But this is a little tight."

Sheldon released her just enough that he could look down at her. Amy smiled back up and then snuggled her head against his chest. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Well, I did prepare a survey about my performance and your satisfaction rating but it can wait until morning if you prefer."

"Whatever the highest number is for all the questions, that's my answer."

"Now, don't be too hasty," he chided softly, although he smiled. "You haven't seen the questions yet. There's even an essay portion."

"I love you. That's it, that's the entirety of my essay."

His eyebrows went up, but then he nodded. "I love you, too."

"What was your favorite part?" Amy asked, but her question ended with a yawn.

"This," Sheldon answered, kissing the top of her and closing his eyes as he held her close.

* * *

 **"** **I look forward to your next birthday when we do it again."**

"Sheldon, you don't have to make breakfast."

"Yes, I do. It's a time-honored tradition that the first time a woman allows a man to use her bed and her body for sexual pleasure that he makes her breakfast. Go shower. That hair isn't going to detangle itself."

By the time the French toast was done, Amy had reappeared, her hair wet and stringing down her back, wrapped up in her robe again. After she reassured him she didn't want to dry her hair, they sat down to eat.

"This is delicious!" Amy said. "I'm starving."

"You wouldn't be if you'd let me fill you up you last night."

Amy winked at him. "Who said you didn't?"

He looked over at her, confused. Based on her wink, though, he surmised this was some sort of innuendo, and he just shrugged. She continued smiling as she ate with gusto, and he watched her, the way she kept glancing over at him with such a bright, happy face.

"Amy," he said softly, touching her forearm to still her hand. "I think we should talk about last night."

Her eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. "I already told you my answers to the survey."

"No, not that." He took a deep breath. "I want to make sure something that was said was understood and meant."

Amy's smiled faded as she lowered her fork. "Of course I know you meant it. It's not like you to say something you don't mean."

"No, I meant . . . what you said. When you agreed to only annual coitus." He slid his palm down to capture hers. "As you know, there's a flood of hormone-induced emotions immediately post-coital, so I want to make sure you didn't speak in haste."

Her face shifted again, but it remained an unreadable mask. "Oh. I didn't realize I had a say in the schedule."

"Amy!" He gripped her hand harder. "You always have a say."

She gave a half nod. "But you did enjoy it, correct? I assumed you meant that, too."

"Yes, I did." He licked his lips. This was important to Amy, and so he continued, "I wasn't sure I would. While the idea was not repulsive to me because you're not repulsive to me, I thought the act would be as ambivalent as the idea of it is. I thought I would remain neutral. But . . ."

"Yes?" Amy prompted him as he gathered his thoughts.

"But it was a positive experience. I enjoyed being intimate with you because of how close we were. It was immensely satisfying to share the experience with you and only you. I liked seeing your reactions, how much you enjoyed it. I've - I've never imagined your face could be so . . ." He let it fall away without a word, because the word for her face as she orgasmed did not exist. "I was especially . . . undone by your fingers on my spine." He paused to sigh softly. "But . . . I'm sorry, Amy, I don't feel an urge to do it again anytime soon. You know I never have been interested in coitus for its own sake, and I find that now I'm only interested in it because you're a part of it."

"If - if you ever find you want to do it more than once a year, you'll tell me?" she asked.

"Of course." He paused. He considered telling her, for the sake of honesty, about those periodic moments - seconds, really - that he had felt something that he thought had been sexual desire. But Sheldon quickly decided against it. Last night, which he felt was the ultimate test, had not yielded such a sensation. On one hand, that was good; he hadn't lasted nearly as long as he'd practiced even without it, and he shuddered to think if some force had shortened his performance even more. But, on the other, it sounded hurtful to his own ears to tell Amy he hadn't sexually desired her. Furthermore, he _had_ enjoyed it: being as close with Amy as it was possible for any two people to be, sharing something so profound with her, something they could never share with anyone else, ever again; but the difference between enjoyment and desire stymied him in the bright light of morning.

Instead, he said, "And it's only fair if you tell me that you think once a year isn't enough for you, either. We'll address the schedule together."

Amy squeezed his hand back. "I know this didn't come naturally to you, and I can't believe you wanted to share it with me. I - I honestly wondered if it would be the only time or if you wouldn't be able to . . . finish; I'd prepared myself for that. I want to make love with you again, but only when you want the same thing. I love you, Sheldon, and I know this is something we can make work for us. It's more important to me to share my life with you than it is to share sexual intercourse with you."

Sheldon leaned over and kissed her cheek softly. He had a whole year to discover the difference between enjoyment and desire, and he knew he could do it with Amy's love.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	11. Chapter 11

**"** **Who said I even want to be engaged to him? And if I do, I don't need your hand-me-downs."**

No. No, no, no. No! It wasn't supposed to happen like this. MeeMaw and Amy were supposed to be chuckling together while stitching a quilt just like the little old ladies they were. Never mind that MeeMaw wasn't the quilting bee type. They had so much in common, namely that they found Sheldon the most adorable creature on Earth, which was no easy feat in a world with kolas.

And why didn't Amy want to be engaged to him? Why did she hate the idea of his family's ring so much? Sheldon's head thumped in confusion.

Although his original plan of making love to Amy the first time on their wedding night had changed - and he had no regrets about that - and even though the early harps concert had long come and gone, Sheldon still planned on asking Amy to marry him. Just last week, he'd investigated an idea he saw on a flyer; even though that particular event had been found wanting, he was looking into other options.

He thought of the night she took him back, the way he held her, grateful she couldn't look into his eyes as she explained his faults. He had been trying, working on being a better boyfriend, a better man. He'd named an asteroid after her, after all. But it wasn't enough, he thought, not yet. Surely that's what Amy meant. She didn't want to be engaged to him _yet_ , she didn't want the heirloom ring _yet_.

Amy deserved to get engaged to a man worthy of her. If only he could make MeeMaw see it that way.

* * *

" **Yeah, well, that is exactly what I've been doing the last five years with this little work in progress**."

Every relationship was a work in progress, just as every person was. Now that he knew how challenging love was, now that he'd worked so hard to win it back, Sheldon was going to stand by it and make it the best possible version of itself.

It wasn't just the relationship. He would do the same with Amy, just as she was doing the same with him. They were honing each other constantly, each of them the knife and each of them the whet stone.

* * *

**"** **I just gave you my virginity, woman. Cool your jets."**

Lordy, couldn't this woman make up her mind? No engagement, engagement. No ring, ring. Sheldon shook his head. Her indecisiveness was just the sort of thing he was refining.

* * *

**"** **Well, you've become such an integral part of my life as well as this show, I felt it only right to include your name in the title."**

Selfishness. It had been in the list of faults Amy briefed him on. It was easy to bristle on her sofa, but, as the days passed, Sheldon saw the ways she had wormed her way into his life and yet for which she did not receive any credit. If the break-up had taught him anything, it was that their symbiosis had gone from facultative to obligate. Amy wasn't just the hermit crab to his sea anemone, she was also the fungi to his algae in this lichen they called love.

* * *

**"** **I believe our relationship now is stronger than ever . . . When we were apart, I learned how important you are to me."**

"Oh, will you just look at this? Although I guess I shouldn't have expected anything more thorough when Leonard was left in charge of cleaning." Sheldon stood with his hands on his waist, looking down at two errant pieces of confetti left on the rug.

"It's not that bad," Amy called from where she was just finishing washing her champagne flute. "I can't even see it from here. Maybe it's just a confetto."

Sheldon looked up to see her grinning as she dried her hands. "No, it's not." He crouched down and picked up the small specks and carried them to the trashcan.

"Ah, don't be too hard on them. They were just having fun for Valentine's Day," Amy said softly. "And Leonard got most of it."

Sheldon nodded and looked over at her. "Did you really have an enjoyable Valentine's Day?"

"I did. I know the phone calls weren't what we were hoping for, but the actual process worked well. We can use this experience to plan our next live show. Maybe not on a holiday devoted to romance when callers might be distracted."

After a moment of consideration, Sheldon said, "True. Are you sure it was gift enough?" Fear of embracing perfectly normal social customs; it was on Amy's list.

"Absolutely. We agreed on no tangible presents." Amy stepped close and reached for his hand. "If we've never gotten those phone calls, I would have never discovered how you felt about our break-up."

"Don't go getting any ideas that you should ever do that to me again."

"Never." It was said with such force that it reminded Sheldon of when she was angry, but it wasn't anger. The word had sad corners, regrets along its edges.

"Good." He paused. "It was very painful, Amy. However, as I said, that pain helped me see that my behavior was . . . not always gentlemanly. I don't just think we're stronger as a result, I think I'm a better man. Or, at least, I'm trying to be."

Her smaller body pressed close to his and she looked up at him, her face soft and open. "Sheldon, you're a very, very good man. Don't forget that. I'm so lucky to be with you, to be that important to you. But I want you to know how important you are to me, also."

Stretching on her tip-toes, her lips pressed against his. He reached for her and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. Why did people always talk about coitus but not kissing? Sheldon found kissing just as enjoyable, and, given the fact that he often wanted to kiss Amy, perhaps more so. It was something he'd yet to tease apart: how he could desire a kiss, even initiate a kiss, deepen a kiss, revel in the feeling of being pressed so close to her, and yet have no desire to proceed beyond the kiss.

He must have been distracted by the quandary, because Amy pulled away sooner than one of them normally would.

"Do you ever - do you ever think about that night?" Amy asked.

"Which night?" What she asking him about the night they broke up? No, she wouldn't ask him to relive that. The night that she took him back? Maybe. "You'll have to be specific. We've shared almost two thousand nights in this relationship."

"You know," she blushed slightly, "the night we made love."

"Of course." He swallowed. Was now the time to tell her that he chose to replicate the events of that evening every month in the shower, a replacement for all his previous masturbatory images? And what about the times he let his mind linger over the feeling of her naked body snuggling around his? Or the image of her face as she climaxed? Instead he said, "Warmly, even." His fingertips curled tighter around her waist.

Amy smiled softly. "You know, in the tradition of courtly love, upon which Saint Valentine's Day was originally meant to commemorate, some poets choose to maintain only chaste interactions so that they could channel their ultimate physical urges into a different kind of energy, to reach a higher end, even if it meant living in perpetual desire." She stretched again to give him a small kiss on the cheek. "So, in that sense, it's been the perfect Valentine's Day: we channeled our efforts into a new format for _Fun with Flags_ , you made a public declaration of romantic love, we kissed chastely - well, somewhat chastely - to bind our hearts together, and now I'm going to go home to sleep alone."

Sheldon knew that he was not well suited to reading the undertones and connotations of speech at times, but he wondered if there was something more there than she said. It was not like Amy to be vague, though, and, searching her face as she gathered her purse and walked toward the door, he found no reticence. Instead, the last phrase was said with such calm dignity and affirmation that Sheldon's heart, whole but still scarred, thumped in his chest. _Even if it meant living in perpetual desire._ When her hand was upon the doorknob, he called, "Amy, wait. Would you like to sleep here tonight?"

She turned, her face bright with surprise and pleasure. See, Amy did not hide things from him. Not anymore. "Really?"

"Why not? Leonard and Penny are no doubt engaged in some very uncourtly love across the hall as we speak."

Amy took a step forward. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. It's not like - Oh." He licked his lips. "I meant a sleepover. Like - the last time you slept here." He looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry, I hadn't considered - um, I'm not prepared - it's not what -"

Her feet crossed the room quickly, the faint clumping of her shoes, and then her hand was upon his chest, just over his heart. Sheldon looked up to meet her gentle eyes. "It's Valentine's Day, not my birthday. I knew what you meant. PG boy/girl sleepover it is."

Just like that, she'd gone and given him a Valentine's Day gift after all: the gift of acceptance. "Do you still have a sleepover pack squirreled away around here somewhere?"

"Yep. There's one in Leonard's closet."

"Does he know that?"

"Ask me if I care."

As she went to change, Sheldon set about turning off lights and locking the door. By the time he'd finished changing in the bathroom, Amy was already in his bed. She appeared to be wearing a long flowered nightgown, and she smiled when he approached. When Sheldon stretched out under the covers next to her, his stomach fluttered. Was it a bad idea to tempt Amy and her perpetual desire like this?

"You know, if Leonard has an extra clean pair of those heart-covered boxers, you could put them on."

"Need I remind you that you said this was a holiday for courtly love?"

She chuckled and rolled on her side, facing away from him. "I wouldst only behold thy fine form, my lord, I promiseth."

He pulled the chain on the bedside lamp with a shake of his head and curled up behind her, dropping a kiss on her flannel-covered shoulder before he whispered, "Get thou to slumber, my lady."

* * *

**"** **Maybe later I'll get to see you in your birthday suit."**

Google being one of his closest friends, Sheldon looked up the expression later that night, after the birthday party broke up and everyone had gone home. Oh. So _that's_ what a birthday suit was a euphemism for. Amy wanted to see him naked.

Tilting his head, Sheldon considered this. Well, that didn't seem wise. Not because he minded being naked with Amy. His single experience of nudity in her presence felt just as natural as he hoped. But nudity in and of itself was considered sexually arousing to some people and - oh! So _that's_ what Amy really meant. It was sexual innuendo. That explained her raised eyebrows and puckered lips and silly grin.

Sheldon frowned at his desk. But did she really mean it? Or, because it was innuendo, was it a de facto joke? Thus the raised eyebrows and puckered lips and silly grin? Amy should know he wasn't any good at innuendo and the puns of simpler minds. Not to mention that she'd agreed to his once yearly coitus plan. Of course he wanted her to tell him if that schedule was no longer enough to satisfy her, so they could discuss it together, but he did not think Amy would use a joke to do so.

So was it just a silly little stab at humor? Again, not his forte. But Sheldon had to admit, now that he was considering the idea, he didn't mind it. Having spent so many years ignoring his sexuality and then the last few fretting over it, it felt like a breather not to have to take it so seriously. Coitus with Amy was a very serious event, and it had unfolded with the gravitas it deserved. But now, having survived it, why not enjoy the occasional light-hearted comment about it? He had enjoyed their little exchange about those heart-covered boxers on Valentine's Day.

Suddenly, it occurred to him that such comments were a way to flirt, to bring a smile and blush to Amy's face, to remind her that it had been a positive experience for him, too, and that it was acceptable to talk about it between the two of them. Not talking about it had been their downfall in the past.

With a determined nod of his head, Sheldon stood and stretched. Yes, flirting. It was such an obvious mainstream activity that surely he would have no difficulty mastering it. In fact, given her chuckle on Valentine's Day, he probably already had.

* * *

**"'Cause every time I come in here, I think less of me . . . I'm a fraud."**

Displaying vulnerability wasn't on Amy's list, and it wasn't on any list of Sheldon's, either. But it felt, if not good, at least like a bit of reprieve to share it with someone else, the place that reminded him that he was a charlatan. And Amy was the only person he could share it with, the only one he felt safe telling, the only one to whom he was willing to expose himself on this level.

It was just one of the ways Sheldon knew he wasn't the man he claimed to be. Some were probably harmless, like his vocal disdain for physical exercise of the body when the mind was clearly paramount; and yet he still disappeared every afternoon to use his hacky sack, thus increasing both his circulation and his muscle mass. There were larger ways, though, too, such as his love for Amy and his sharing of coitus with her, even if those two things had proven to be positive changes in his life.

Amy. Sheldon looked over at her as she drove them home. They'd been silent, each one lost in their own thoughts. What was Amy thinking? She said she didn't think less of him, but why not? Because she was Amy, he knew. Sweet, dear Amy. Why hadn't he trusted her sooner? Why hadn't he admitted his love sooner, not just to her but also to himself? And why had he been so opposed to coitus with her?

He wasn't opposed now. And yet, he wasn't . . . unopposed. Sometimes he tried to make himself desire her physically, to force those glimmers of feelings that he'd experienced. Earlier this month, he'd even decided to change his monthly ritual, to perform it in bed despite the mess, to see if that was the change he needed. It wasn't. It hadn't felt any different than his normal result; it just left him with more to clean in the end. That made him feel like less, too.

Nothing else had been said about the engagement ring since MeeMaw had come to visit, either. It was one of the reasons Sheldon had shown Amy his storage unit. He thought maybe it was best to show her all his flaws before he asked her to marry him. Amy needed all the possible information before she gave her answer. Said yes? It felt like too much to hope for at times.

It was a good thing she hadn't brought up the ring or put any pressure on him about it. At first because his heart was still aching: from the soreness of loss, from the thumping ache of begging at her door, from sealing back together, and from the tiny pierces of what she told him about himself that evening. But now, with the passage of time, Sheldon had decided it was too soon to ask her. He needed to work on himself first, to fix those flaws that he could, to mitigate the others, to show her all the skeletons in his storage unit.

* * *

**"** **You know, it's still a couple of hours until my bedtime."  
** **"** **What did you have in mind?"**

He wiggled his eyebrows over his mug of tea. Time to put those lady killer baby blues to good use. Yep, flirting, he had this.

* * *

**"** **Never have I ever completely rocked my girlfriend's world in bed."**

"How many stories was the building?" Sheldon asked.

"Does it matter?" Amy replied with her own question.

"Maybe. If it was a four story building, for example, it seems you would have inconvenienced fewer people waiting for the elevator than a twenty story building," Sheldon explained.

"Would you think less of me then?"

Sheldon considered this. "Not really. I just want to know how willing you are to break rules. And you took an awful big swig from that wine glass."

"I did. With relish."

"The elevator or the wine?"

"Both."

Sheldon shook his head and set his own glass on the coffee table. "I think that's enough wine for you. I know I'm feeling lightheaded. We should put out this fire and go to bed."

He got up to flip the switch to the fireplace, and Amy stood behind him. "I don't how you're still standing. Two whole sips."

Turning from the rapidly disappearing flames, Sheldon replied, "You know I don't normally drink alcohol. I have an extremely low tolerance. This could be like that night I slept with a geology textbook all over again. Oh! That's what I should have said. Never have I ever rocked a textbook's world in bed. No, wait, that's not true. I once used a marker to correct all the inaccuracies in my fifth grade history book while simultaneously staying up past my bedtime. Oh, will you look at that! Apparently I'm just as willing as you to break the rules!"

Amy nodded and stepped closer to him, "Come on, Jesse James, let's head to bed."

He wasn't drunk; Sheldon was certain of that, although he did have to admit that he felt more relaxed than usual. But Amy's arm wrapped about his waist felt so good that he let her lead him to the second bedroom nonetheless. Peeking out of the corner of his eye, he watched her face as she reached out to flip the light switch. Earlier, when they'd arrived, he'd seen her disappointment when she discovered this bedroom was decorated for the doctor's children, including twin beds.

"I'm fine, Amy," he volunteered. "I can get ready by myself."

"Okay, sure." That disappointed her, too, he noticed.

But, having said it, Sheldon offered her the bathroom first while he changed into his pajamas. Once they were both stretched out on their separate beds in the dark, Sheldon rolled over to look at her. "Did I really rock your world in bed? You didn't have anything to compare it to."

Her bed rustled as she lifted herself up on her elbow to look at him. "When you felt your first earthquake after moving to California, did you doubt what it was?"

"No. But I knew it was only a mild one, and that the Ritcher scale goes much higher."

"Well, then, I'll consider that something to look forward to." He thought maybe she was smiling in the dark as she lay back down.

"I'm sorry there's only twin beds in here. I guess we could go knock on the other door and tell Leonard and Penny that if they're not speaking, they should take this room."

Just then, Penny's voice came through the wall, muffled but an obvious, "Oh, God, Alvin!"

"It seems like Penny is conversing with Leonard's genitals," Amy pointed out.

"I just hope he doesn't do the chipmunk voice. I hate the voice."

Amy started laughing in the dark. "The beds are fine, Sheldon. This is fun, like summer camp."

"Did you ever go to summer camp?"

"Never have I ever. My mother said summer camp was only good for catching Lyme disease and chlamydia. Did you?"

"No, because your mother was correct for once."

There was a scrambling sound, and Sheldon turned just in time to squint into a bright stream of light. "Sorry. I remembered there being a flashlight down here. Let's pretend we're at summer camp and tell ghost stories. Here, you go first."

The flashlight was pointing toward the ceiling now, coming across the divide toward him, and Sheldon sat up to take it from Amy's outstretched hand. "I don't know how."

"Just hold it under your chin, pointing up, because it makes you look spooky. And then tell me something scary."

"Alright." Sheldon considered what to say for a moment, and then he lifted the flashlight to his chin. "Did you know there's more E. Coli in the average kitchen sink than the average household toilet?"

"No, you're not doing it right."

"Why not?" Sheldon lowered the flashlight. "You said to tell you something scary. What's scarier than intestinal bacterium on your broccoli?"

"No," Amy shook her head, "a ghost story. Like the one where you pick up a hitchhiker in the desert and then you run out of gas. That sort of thing."

Sheldon tilted his head. "I don't get it. Why would l be driving in the desert or anywhere else for that matter without checking my fuel gage first? And I'd never pick up a hitchhiker. If I'm smart enough to avoid the situation you describe, how is that scary? What might happen in anyone's kitchen sink, now that's terrifying."

"Okay." Amy stretched across the gap between their beds and grabbed the flashlight. "No ghost stories." The light went out and Sheldon heard her putting it back on the little table between them. "Never mind, it was a silly idea. We're too old for summer camp."

It was there in her voice, disappointment again. This time he had disappointed her. "Are there any other summer camp activities we could try?" he offered.

"We could make s'mores over the fire."

"Do we have the supplies?" Sheldon asked into the darkness.

"Not unless they're already here."

Good, no sticky fingers. "We could sing a cowboy song."

"I don't know any." A pause. "Does _Surrey with the Fringe on Top_ count?"

"I don't think so. It's probably too loud anyway." They could hear Leonard's snoring through the wall now. Alvin and the Chipmunks had apparently fallen asleep.

Another set of shuffling sounds and shifting shadows, and then Amy was sitting next to him. "What are you doing?"

"Sneaking into the boys' bunk room. Another summer camp tradition."

"But we're in the same bunk room already."

"Shhhh." Amy's fingers brushed his jaw, turning his head, and then she kissed him. It was slow and sweet and gentle. Something about it reminded him of the kiss on the train. Perhaps it was the unexpected nature of it, the hesitancy of action, like kissing was brand new again and they were still shy.

"I'm sorry there's not enough room for you to sleep here," Sheldon whispered when it was over.

"I know. I just came to claim my prize and have something to brag about tomorrow morning."

Then, as quickly as she'd come, she was gone. Sheldon sighed softly and stretched back out under the covers. There was more than one way to have one's world rocked in bed.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	12. Chapter 12

**"** **Cohabitation with my girlfriend? That's a great deal to process."**

It's not that Sheldon hadn't considered living with Amy before. He planned on marrying her, after all. Once he'd fixed all his flaws or at least mitigated what Amy perceived as his flaws. But it was just exactly what he said it was: a great deal to process. He assumed he would be the one asking, in a sense, when he proposed. He assumed they'd have months to spend wedding planning in order for him to become accustomed to the idea, that they'd schedule weekly meetings to discuss the finer points of this massive upheaval in their lives and craft their new agreement together. Yes, Sheldon knew he'd once said it would be simple to cut and paste something from the Roommate Agreement into the Relationship Agreement, but that was the sort of slapdash effort that resulted in Eisenstein's cosmological constant.

And he didn't do well with change. Amy knew that; it was on her list of flaws, after all. Or it had been a small comment tossed out in that discussion, he wasn't sure. Regardless: _be open to occasionally trying some new, small thing._ Expect this wasn't small. This was seeing Amy pluck her chin hairs. She might see him cutting his toenails. Leonard left so much hair behind in the shower, he shuddered to think how much Amy's longer tresses would leave. What if she walked around barefoot in the middle of the day? What if she loaded the dishwasher incorrectly?

* * *

**"** **Okay, you guys had sex one whole time. Nothing can put out a fire like that."**

What was Penny trying to say? Was she trying to imply that because they'd only had coitus once that there was no romance in their relationship?

Sheldon thought his relationship with Amy was an ever-blooming perennial of romance. If anything, there was probably too much romance for a couple of rational superior beings like themselves. But, thanks to Amy, he had learned that romance wasn't just mushroom logs and toy trains. Romance was loving someone enough to stick beside them, even if they saw the world in a different way than you. Romance was finding a common ground upon which to meet and discuss your differences. Romance was the effort you put into understanding the world from another's point of view. Romance was the time you spent trying to become a better person, the person your partner already knew you could be. Sheldon had discovered the most important type of romance was compromising to meet another's needs - or lack thereof.

* * *

**"** **Don't try luring me in with sexy talk."**

Darn her and her correct technical terms! Darn her for appealing to the scientist in him, which was clearly the largest and most superior part of him. He would have said the only part of him, but then he discovered he loved Amy, so there was at least a streak of hippy. Amy was smart enough to have figured out nothing made him want to kiss her more than a well-placed "thusly."

Correction, maybe if she used a _Star Trek_ reference. It's a good thing the words "five year mission" hadn't come rolling out her mouth or he might have made out with her in front of Leonard, Penny, and Mr. Spock himself.

* * *

**"** **I accept this five week mission to share a living space with my girlfriend."**

It would be just like going to Mars. Or a small, short mission on board the USS Enterprise. He could be Spock, and she, with her overheated sensibilities, would be Kirk. Or should she be Scotty so that she didn't outrank him? Or Bones because that was the closest field to biology? Or Uhura because -

It didn't matter. Sheldon was going to boldly go - or least try to appear to boldly go - and explore this new life. Together with his small crew of one. The best crew in the galaxy.

* * *

**"** **Oh, excited, concerned, a little scared. All the same emotions I feel in line at Space Mountain."**

Maybe he wasn't Spock, either, admitting all those human emotions to Amy.

Excited. The three nights he'd spent sleeping in bed with her had been comforting, pleasant experiences. She obviously enjoyed them very much, too. It was a way to share something intimate with her alone that wasn't coitus. He looked forward to experiencing that with her again.

Concerned. An occasional night sleeping next to him was a treat for Amy. She accepted it as such, an unexpected gift. Nothing else was implied, and she was on her best sleeping behavior. He probably was, too. What if they discovered that, with time, they had completely different sleeping styles or positions? What if she stole all the covers?

Scared. What if sleeping together, night after night, just reminded Amy that they weren't _sleeping together_? Would sleeping next to Amy lead her to expect more coitus? Their bodies would so close, their pheromones amplified by the generated heat and the blankets. Amy had agreed to annual coitus and hadn't once tried to sway him differently. But what would happen once they fell asleep together and woke up together, repeatedly? When they were sharing a bed daily, as a mundane occurrence and not a special treat? What if his sharp mind and joyous genitals turned out to be too great a temptation for her? What if they found it was too great a hurdle for them to jump together? And then what if Amy blamed him for the failure of the experiment? And, if it failed, didn't that mean that marriage would be impossible? If it failed and marriage was impossible, wouldn't Amy have no recourse but to break up with him again?

* * *

**"** **Well, I imagine one of your concerns might be coital expectations."**

When she said talk about it, she didn't mince words. Well, she was correct. It didn't concern him or scare Sheldon, it terrified him.

* * *

**"** **Why don't we take being physical off the table and maybe later on, once we're more settled in, we can revisit it."**

She really was okay with it. Why had he ever thought she wouldn't discuss the situation him like the adults they were? Why did he every think she would try to cajole him into a more frequent coitus schedule or hold an unspoken grudge against him about it? Just the thought was disrespectful to her.

There was something about sitting on the edge of his bed with her, discussing coitus that made Sheldon so grateful for Amy in that moment. It had a strange sort of déjà vu to it, a reminder of another conversation in this room, on this bed, in the same positions, the first actual conversation they'd ever had about coitus. The first time Amy offered to wait for him. But not the last, it seemed. The powerful rush of relief and gratitude that he felt at that moment took him by surprise and melted away all his previous concerns and fears.

* * *

**"** **I know we took coitus off the table, but I was wondering how you feel about other forms of intimacy, such as snuggling."**

If it weren't for his intolerance for overheating in bed, Sheldon wouldn't have suggested the pillow wall. The three nights they'd slept in the same bed had been marked by snuggling, an act he found greatly enjoyable.

Sheldon wondered why Amy had even asked. Perhaps she was just been overly careful, overly considerate. He doubted that someone of her intelligence genuinely struggled with the difference between romantic touch and sexual touch. Touching Amy, holding Amy, just having her in such close proximity that he could smell her dandruff shampoo was somehow the remedy for so much that caused him stress. It was relaxing and revitalizing at the same time.

And so he did sleep well - at first. He had a dream in which the ghost of Richard Feynman came to him, a sort of scientific _Christmas Carol_ , and Sheldon helped him solve the mystery of dark matter resulting in their win of the Nobel Prize. Or, rather, Sheldon won it alone because ghosts were crazy talk.

However, halfway through the night, he awoke, confused about where he was and then why he was in Penny's bedroom and what Amy was doing on the floor. Whatever it was, he was certain that he didn't deserve to have his very wits scared out of him by the flash of her phone. How were they supposed to snuggle when she was on the floor, assaulting him with unnecessary and painful visual stimuli?

* * *

**"** **Do you want to go to our place and make out?"**

Amy pulled away and reach up to touch her pinker-than-normal and slightly puffy lips. Sheldon knew the signs well, that their make out session was at a close. He, too, found the need for Chapstick more acute now than the need to kiss his girlfriend. He lowered a hand to rub her shoulder and waited for the words he knew she would say next.

"That was nice."

"It was."

"I think I'm going to take a bath before bed. To relax."

"Oh, that sounds lovely. Take your time."

He leaned forward to kiss her softly on the cheek and she smiled back warmly. Sheldon turned on the love seat to watch his girlfriend walk toward the bedroom, shutting the door there. He heard the faint click of the lock, and he nodded.

Standing, he stretched and went to the kitchen to get his usual post make-out glass of orange juice. Something about all that kissing and touching made him feel like his blood sugar had dropped slightly. He poured the glass, replaced the carton in the fridge, and sat at the island to drink it slowly. These were the same actions he'd taken several times over the past four weeks, the very first time being that initial morning of their cohabitation experiment, when Amy had managed to inflame him in more than one way.

They made out, he enjoyed it but had no interest in escalating it, Amy was the one who stopped it, although he agreed it had probably ran its natural course, and then he poured a glass of orange juice to drink slowly while he pretended not to know that Amy was masturbating in the bathtub.

Oh, she had not told him that's what she was doing. And, with the bedroom door locked, he was not close enough to hear. Nor had he asked. But the logical arts of deduction led him to only one conclusion. Previously, he never really thought about if or when or how she choose to self-gratify. It just never crossed his mind. But it only made sense that she did. And, just as promised a year ago, she was using self-gratification to control her sexual urges without pressuring him.

But since it had never been mentioned, when the time came for his monthly self-gratification ritual two weeks ago, he had set an extra early alarm on his phone and let its vibration wake him. He took his shower while Amy slept, locking the door himself. She was surprised to find him already dressing when the regular alarm went off, and he brushed aside her questions with a vague statement that he couldn't sleep. It was not technically a lie, as the alarm had interrupted and prevented said sleep. He did not know if Amy guessed, but, if so, she, too, had respected his privacy enough not to ask.

After a few mornings of experimentation, they had discovered the most expeditious and logical way to leave for work on schedule in the morning involved sharing the bathroom at times. And, aware of and comfortable with both their own nudity and that of their partner's, Sheldon thought nothing about brushing his teeth naked after his shower and he thought nothing about Amy walking nude into the bedroom to start getting dressed after hers. There was no locking of the door then or for the reverse actions in the evening.

Mostly, Sheldon felt grateful for Amy's behavior. She had never once pressured him into any physical action he was uncomfortable with, she had never one asked for an additional night of love-making, and she had never once mentioned her own sexual urges and how she relieved them.

But . . . sitting there, sipping orange juice, while the beautiful woman he loved pleasured herself without him . . . Sheldon felt empty and useless. But, still, he had no desire to join her.

Why had he ever doubted this experiment wouldn't work? Amy had a thousand annoying habits that he discovered in this apartment, but her patience and understanding in regards to his sexuality wasn't one of them. Instead, it most touching in its perfection.

If only there were a way to let Amy know that he both knew of and was deeply indebted to her for her actions: for her silent acceptance, for the noble way she left the room, the words not uttered. He didn't want to embarrass her, but he wanted to show his appreciation. He'd done something, something that wasn't nearly enough, something so small in comparison to her gift that now, as he finished his juice, he decided she probably didn't notice. After a session of research on the Internet so thorough that he was only getting the most embarrassing of ads now, Sheldon had ordered her a bottle of bath oil also designed to serve as non-water soluble sexual lubricant. He'd been most pleased with the tasteful packaging, something that could set easily in the corner of the tub next to her bottle of bubble bath and not arouse suspicion. Something on which she'd probably have to read the fine print to understand what made it a special bath oil. But now he worried that maybe it was too subtle.

Just as he was putting his empty glass in the dishwasher, the door to the bedroom opened and Amy returned, dressed now for bed, her hair pulled back, her cheeks gently flushed. Sheldon looked over and smiled at her. She looked satiated, as she normally did, but he thought maybe her smile in return was fuller than usual.

"Do you feel better now?" he asked. This, too, was part of the ritual.

"Yes, thank you. How was your juice?"

"Fine." Suddenly, her arms snaked their way around his waist and she pulled him in tight. This was not part of the ritual, and he paused in surprise before he reciprocated.

"Sheldon. The bath oil. Was it - It's also - Did you notice -"

"Shhhh," he whispered into the top of her head, "you don't have to say anything."

And then she blessed them by not.

* * *

**"** **Do you know that when I get out of the shower, she eyes me up and down like I'm a piece of meat?"**

It was a strange sensation, knowing someone was looking at you with lust. In bed with Amy, on her birthday, it had been welcome and even wonderful. Amy wanted him physically, in appreciation of his body and what he planned to do with it.

In the morning, preparing for work, it was . . . disconcerting. Sheldon still liked knowing he was the Atlas of Amy's mythology, but it also served as an uncomfortable reminder of her perpetual - and unsatisfied - desire.

Once, he'd tried it himself, just to see if there was another element to the act he was missing. As Amy took off her nightgown, he raked his eyes over her body, head to toe, and let his head follow. He tried it twice in succession at different speeds to see if that altered anything.

"Is there a fly in here?" Amy asked suddenly.

"What?"

"You're squinting and moving your head around like a cat, studying something."

"Um, I guess not," he mumbled. Amy's eyes stilled upon him for a moment, but then she shook her head and stepped into the shower.

He couldn't even do salacious glances correctly, although he didn't fully understand why. Amy was beautiful; he loved her smile and the fall of her hair and the way she moved her hands and the curve of her bottom. It was a pleasure to watch her when she concentrated on something other than him, to see the way her eyebrows dipped and raised, as though conducting a silent symphony of absorption. Living together had only given him more opportunities to do so.

But when he tried, and when her nudity should have made it easier to appreciate her physical form, he failed. Not that he knew why he was even trying. If he had succeeded in looking at her with desire, wouldn't that mean he was desiring her? That, too, was a failure. Amy had accepted him, accepted his sexual status quo, but there were times he still wanted to be something else for her.

He had a dream one night that he'd succeeded in watching Amy disrobe with a stare of such lechery that she blushed scarlet. Then, without warning, he picked her up whole and had coitus with her standing unsupported in the middle of the bathroom. The dream bothered him for days, and not just because he did the calculations and it broke more than one law of physics for such a thing to work.

If he'd mentioned it to Amy, would she have told him that his loving study of her while she was clothed and working had not gone unnoticed and meant far more to her than any sexual surveillance could have?

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	13. Chapter 13

**"** **Amy Farrah Fowler, will you share this toothbrush holder with me?"**

Who knew a toothbrush holder could hold so much forgiveness along with the implements of dental hygiene?

"Sheldon?" Amy's frustrated tone made him snap up from the patterns the teabag was making in the dark liquid as he swirled it. "Did you hear me? I asked what you wanted for dinner."

"I'm sorry. I'm actually not very hungry. Penny and I had ice cream. But go ahead and eat if you are."

Amy leaned forward on the island, picking up her mug of tea and taking a long drink. "So, what did Penny say to get you to apologize?"

"I resent the implication that Penny can get me to do anything against my will."

"So nothing whatsoever happened or was said today between the two of you? You just ambled along in silence?"

"Oh, very well. She just pointed out another woman at the ice cream parlor, and that was enough." Amy made a soft noise along with very slow nod and took another drink of her tea. "Because I wasn't really looking," Sheldon added. Then he took a deep breath. "Actually, she suggested I focus on the present and not causing you pain right now as opposed to worrying about some possible future imaginary pain I may cause you when I'm overweight and the children are all teenagers."

Her mug made a sharp sound on the tiles as Amy sat it down quickly. "I don't think I understand."

"Can we move to the sofa? To talk?"

"Okay."

Once they were arranged, though, Sheldon snipped his tea several more times without speaking. Amy watched him carefully but she didn't question him. Finally, he explained, "I told Penny today something I've never told anyone before, something I probably should have told you first. But I didn't mean to tell her. I think it was a side effect of hyperglycemia."

"Go ahead."

With a deep breath, Sheldon told Amy the same story he'd told Penny earlier, about coming home at the age of thirteen to find his father in bed with a woman who was not his mother. "They were having coitus," he ended.

"Oh!" Amy took a drink of her beverage. Sheldon wondered briefly how they'd ever made it through their relationship without mugs of tea to give them excuses to pause and gather their thoughts. "I have several questions."

"Very well."

"How does this relate to the toothbrush holder?"

"We've only lived together a week and we're bickering all the time. By the time that happened, my parents were fighting about everything, too, but they had years together first. I guess I just thought that if we were going to end up like them, I should let you go before I hurt you by cheating on you. If you got that attached to a toothbrush holder, goodness knows you'd get too attached to me."

"Okay, that makes sense. Sort of. Anyway, do you really think you'll cheat on me, Sheldon? Because I don't. I didn't sit at home today worrying about it, because I knew it wouldn't happen."

"I'm sure my mother said the same thing." Amy's eyebrows shot up and he shook his head. "I'm sorry. That sounded wrong. But what if infidelity has a genetic component? I have my father's hair, you know. I - I worry about it. Ending up like him." He lowered his head. "Alcoholic, unfaithful, unhappy . . . dead before my time."

He heard Amy's cup against the coffee table and then her arm was around him. "Sheldon, you are not your father. I never met him, but, based on what you've told me, you're actually very different people. Your future actions are not predetermined. You can make your own choices and be who you want to be. What do you really, really want?"

"I want to love you and be happy with you and my Nobel Prize for the rest of my life," he whispered.

"Well, then, do it."

Sheldon looked up at her. Her hug had relaxed, but her palm still pressed against his back. "You make it sound so simple."

"Simple, yes. Easy, no. You've already learned you'll have to make compromises and changes to be the man you want to be. We all do."

Amy was so wise. In a few succinct words, she'd clarified a great deal for him: the plan was clear but the execution would be difficult.

"Can I ask you one more question?" she continued, and Sheldon felt her fingers toy with the back of his shirt. This question made her nervous. He waved his hand toward her. "Do you think what you saw is related to your asexuality? Did it - did you think it was dirty? . . . Do you . . . Was it traumatic?"

His head snapped back. "It's possible to be asexual without being sexually abused, Amy. It's not a side effect of injury."

"I know, I know!" Amy clenched his shirt with her hand and grabbed his forearm with the other. "I didn't mean you were abused, Sheldon. Not at all! I just meant . . . Remember how you started using a loofah because you wanted the benefits of exfoliation, but then you saw that report that loofahs harbor both acinetobacter and Candida? You were so traumatized you won't even walk down that aisle at Target anymore. I just meant you're a very willful person." She took a deep breath and relaxed her grip. "But I also know you probably just are . . . asexual. I'm sorry I asked."

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," he mumbled. "I guess I never thought about it like that before." He took a very long drink of tea. "But, no. I always thought I was different, and, by the age of thirteen, I'd already realized I didn't have the interest in kissing under the bleachers that my sister and everyone else seemed to have." Another drink. "It was unethical, of course, and that _did_ upset me. He was a married man. To my mother."

"Of course," Amy murmured.

"Maybe it was traumatic at the time because . . . because he wasn't just cheating on my mother, he was cheating on our family. But seeing the actual act . . . No, I don't think it scarred me. Well, it is why I weigh myself every Tuesday morning and keep a weight journal. All those flabby, jiggling bits . . ." Sheldon shivered. "But, no, even after that I never found the act of watching people have coitus revolting in movies or the security film of my spot." He looked over at her. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I don't _want_ to hear anything, Sheldon. There isn't a right or wrong answer. I was just curious. And, well, I wouldn't want you to have sex if it was traumatic for you."

"Amy!" Sheldon put his mug down so quickly a drop of tea spilled over the edge. He'd clean it later, he thought, as he grabbed her hand. "It wasn't traumatizing to be intimate with you. That night is a memory I'm quite fond of."

"Me, too." Amy leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "And, for the record, I'm already too attached to you." She smiled as she pulled back and said, "Tell me about him. Your father. You rarely talk about him."

"You mean the philander? What else is there to tell?"

"Sheldon, I know that what your father did feels unforgivable. And I'm not saying it was okay; it clearly wasn't. I understand that he was a very flawed person. But surely you have other memories of him, positive ones."

Choosing not to reply, Sheldon looked away. Memories of his father, despite being linear in his head, felt jumbled up in his heart. There was the time George Cooper Sr. drove Sheldon to see the space shuttle launch. There was helping his father plan football plays. There was the early morning that Sheldon woke up in a strange house to find his father had traveled for hours just to bring him home. But there was also the man who refused to let him get a computer. The man who went to vindictive lengths to steal MeeMaw's brisket recipe.

"I don't know," Sheldon told Amy. "He died not long after I - I found him like that, and of course we never talked about it. I guess I never got to know what kind of man he truly was."

"Well, think about it this way. Is that the worst memory you have of your father?" Sheldon nodded. "How would you feel if someone only thought about you on the day you felt the worst? On the day someone found out you had hit rock bottom? Or the day you did something you later regretted?"

The day he did something he regretted? There were, unfortunately, so many. Sheldon remembered his angry words to Amy at Howard and Bernadette's house, when he lashed out in pain. The thing he did a few days later, to make her think he was having coitus with other women. Or when he actually tried to date other women and told Amy about it. The day he lied - to her, to himself - that he didn't want to get back together.

But the day he felt his absolute worst, when he felt that he had hit the bottom of his life? When he curled in upon himself and keened, over and over again, in the center of his bed because Amy left him over what he thought was his asexuality. Still, even now with his heart repaired, the scar left behind throbbed.

Sheldon opened his mouth to say it was different, because he wasn't hurting other people. And, while there was a significant truth to the difference between their actions, while his father had chosen a path of regret and Sheldon had been born into it, the truth was that Amy had been hurt by him, too. Maybe not by his asexuality itself, but by his perplexing her with his own self-denial and leading her on until he found a way to work through it with her. But he had found a way, he had shown Amy that he was willing to change for her, no matter how difficult and contrary to his nature it seemed.

"But he never made amends," Sheldon said softly. "I would do anything to make amends."

"And that is why you are and will be a different man." Amy pulled away and reached forward to pick up their neglected mugs left with the dregs of cold tea. "You don't have to talk about him if you don't want to."

She had just stood, a mug in each hand, and passed in front of him toward the kitchen, when Sheldon reached up to stop her. "Let me tell you about the time we went to see the space shuttle launch."

* * *

**"** **You expressed an interest in having people over, and I feel I dismissed it too quickly. So, I took matters into my own hands, and I arranged a brunch."**

When Amy first suggested a social gathering at their apartment, Sheldon dismissed it as the silly notion is was. They gathered once a week across the hall for dinner with all their friends. Sheldon continued to see his male friends at work, at the comic book store, and on video game nights; Amy maintained regular girls nights with Penny and Bernadette. There were movies and birthdays and all sorts of outings. Surely they already enjoyed enough social interactions. Plus, their apartment was tiny.

And, then, that night, as he returned his washed toothbrush to their shared holder, it struck him how much this experiment had changed him. No, he realized as he curled around Amy's warm, sleepy body, how much he had changed to suit the experiment. To suit Amy. But, as he made her toast the next morning, it occurred to him that wasn't quite right, either.

The truth was Sheldon had changed because he wanted to. Because he wanted to be a better boyfriend for the woman he loved, yes, but also because he wanted to be a better man. For himself, for the future. Otiosity only led to decay. It was true in nature and it was true professionally; no scientific evolution led to irrelevance. But it was also true in love. Love was a process, not a single act.

The proper way to perform an experiment was to perform it fully. There was no room for hesitation or half-measures. So maybe he could perform an experiment within their experiment. He could surprise Amy with a brunch - a meal she loved and he hated - and he'd invite guests. Maybe the B team, though, in case it all went down in flames. Not only could he do that for Amy, he would do it to prove how far he'd come. And if it meant eating a meal that had no purpose while touching knees with oddballs, well then, so be it.

Yes, their apartment was small, but Sheldon's love for Amy was not.

* * *

**"** **Don't get me all randy. Guests are on the way."**

Amy's mind was a beautiful thing. Curved and plump with just the right amount of shimmy. Nothing, absolutely nothing, made Sheldon want to kiss her like a dance of that brain. Her brain and her lips had somehow become tied up together in his mind, two sets of pink, puckered lobes. But only one of which he could physically touch.

Lately, he'd been finding ever more reasons to do so. And staying longer. Finding more pleasure in the act of kissing. Oh, he still retreated to his orange juice. But since he'd been living with Amy, something had changed. There was still a separation between the enjoyment of kissing and the desire for coitus, but he had the unmistakable feeling that they were edging ever so slightly closer.

Sheldon had always enjoyed making out with Amy, even from that very first French kiss when it overwhelmed him. Even when he had to devote a part of his mind to thinking of something else to temper his physical response. It had felt safe and easy, a way to be sensual and romantic but still fully clothed. It made Amy happy, and he loved the way she looked at him afterwards. But now he found that it left more than a tingling upon his lips, more than an itching in his brain. Something was struggling and stirring within him in those moments, and Sheldon wasn't exactly sure what it was.

He considered that it was because he was in such close and constant proximity to that brain of hers. It was why he found himself trying new things now, things small and large, ways to interact with Amy, to surprise her, to amp up the speed of her brain a bit. A discussion, a new theory, a tiny point of conflict - anything to hear her pontificate, even if it was just a sentence or two.

It was his own brain that remained somewhat baffled by this change. Not that he didn't welcome it or hope that maybe it was a glimmer that he would find himself wanting to give Amy more sexual intimacy at some point in the future. He felt like ancient man, longing to soar toward the heavens even while not understanding the force that held him to the ground.

* * *

**"** **Her behavior. No, I have the feeling that she's hiding something."**

Amy hated living with him. Amy wanted her own apartment back, so she could live alone again. Amy realized there was no future for them. Amy wanted to break up. Amy didn't love him. Amy wanted someone who would have coitus nightly.

Something was bothering her and she just wouldn't tell him. Or everything was bothering her. Or just everything about one something, that something being him. Whatever it was, the not knowing was crippling him. He thought they had moved beyond this, ever since that night on her love seat when she took him back. Whatever this secret was, it had to be of utmost seriousness to Amy to falter in her normally honest and forthright behavior, to break the implied vow in their relationship. Food lost all flavor, sleep lost all its dreams, and his bowel movements lost all their solidity.

All those months apart, lying to himself, lying to her, seeing her kiss someone else. The agony . . . Under his skin, the scar on his heart itched constantly now. Sheldon knew he wouldn't survive it again. He osculated wildly, often within the same second, between never wanting her to tell him and wanting her to just rip the flap off, all over again, so it would be done.

* * *

**"** **Uh, she's enjoyed living with you. It's called being in love."**

When Leonard told Sheldon that Amy was lying about her apartment, Sheldon believed him. Enough to confront Amy about it. But there was still a dark, sinister shadow of doubt that Amy really wanted to leave him again. So Penny's claim of having seen the apartment only added to Sheldon's confusion.

But - but - But!

Sheldon's head hammered wildly at the truth and suddenly he felt both his digestive track and his heart instantaneously slip back into proper function. Amy loved him still! Amy loved him so much she'd lied to continue living with him!

Everything could be perfect! He could have Amy, live with Amy and still have his room and his spot just across the hallway, to visit whenever he liked and -

What?!

* * *

**"** **This isn't complicated. Do you love Amy?"  
** **"** **Do you like living with her?"**

It sounded so simple when his friends broke it down into two questions. What was it he had learned from Amy? The path was clear but the execution would be difficult.

Five weeks had not sounded like a long time, and, indeed, it had come and gone and even extended with speed. It had been a positive experience and he was open to the possibility of continuing it. Sheldon knew this day would come. He still planned on asking Amy to marry him, and they'd want to live together and alone without all the inference of Leonard and Penny when that time came. Really, those two were so noisy and bothersome!

But to have it laid out before him, so cleanly by Amy and his friends . . . There was black and there was white, a sharp contrast Sheldon usually enjoyed. It was the jumping from one chess square to another that pained him; a brief experiment had been more of a gentle slope. If he moved back in with Leonard, he could have his old room, just the way he left it. But if he moved in with Amy permanently, that refuge would cease to be. What if Amy started acting like Penny and got rid of all his prized possessions? What if his mother found out he was living in sin and got rid of his most prized possession of all, his head?

Sheldon left the comic book store early, walking home to contemplate the climbing of the stairs, the landing on the fourth story, now a chasm between his choices. His legs became heavier with each step. It must be exactly how Olympic high divers felt. He loved Amy and he enjoyed living with her, and he had to concentrate on that. He said that to himself as he continued to climb. Right foot: "I love Amy." Left foot: "I enjoy living with her."

All he needed was a dose of courage to make the leap. Or maybe a little push.

* * *

**"** **Well, I wouldn't want you to starve to death, so here's an eggplant."**

Due to his friendships with one Howard Wolowitz and one Rajesh Koothrappoli, Sheldon was familiar with several so-called dirty emojis. His group texts where littered with them, even when he couldn't understand why based on context. There was the peach as an example of the buttocks. The train in the tunnel represented coitus, which Sheldon believed to be sacrilegious until he had experienced coitus and discovered it to be just as exhilarating as trains in tunnels. Leonard told him the conch shell meant a vagina, which is how Sheldon found out Howard didn't have a seashell collection after all. And, of course, the eggplant as a symbol for the penis.

It didn't dawn on him that moment in the hallway when Amy handed him one; rather, he'd been too distracted by having a philosophical conversation with her. Sheldon didn't even think Amy had meant anything by it; rather, the eggplant was just the topmost item in her grocery bag.

But, later that night, watching Amy sleep when he could not, Sheldon considered the eggplant and all that had accompanied it in the hallway. Foolishly, he stood there believing himself to be paralyzed by indecision between two equidistant - and equal - options for habitation.

Foolish because nothing was equal about those options at all. His old apartment didn't house someone who would understand both his need for contemplation and the topic of it. His old apartment didn't house someone who had the patience to wait until he was ready to leave . . . or begin something new. His old apartment didn't house someone who worried about his next meal, someone who presented him with a third option to break his indecision. His old apartment didn't have someone who not only could but would enjoy debating with him. His old apartment didn't have someone who would hand him an eggplant.

Amy, without saying it, had offered him a different choice than he thought he was making when he stopped at the top of the stairs. She wasn't offering him just the practicalities of daily living, although she was; she was also offering a life filled with things he'd never considered, a life filled with things he once couldn't imagine engaging in, beautiful acts he could share with her alone. And the love to accept all the days he wasn't inclined to engage in those acts, even as she still believed in their beauty.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	14. Chapter 14

**"** **We lock that door, lower our underpants a little, and make a baby."**

Why wait? If Sheldon had known that conception and watching a growing form of procreation could be this exhilarating, he would have ignored Penny and made a baby with Amy years ago, when they first discussed it as friends.

If this little bundle of cells was already testing off the charts, imagine how brilliant an actual human baby made from their DNA would be! Just think of all they could learn from observing their progeny grow, the experiments they could perform on it - all humane, of course - to gage the many facets and forms of intelligence. Maybe they could even author a thinking person's guide to child rearing, about the special needs of a child progeny, of a genius.

For science.

* * *

**"** **I don't understand. I thought you'd be thrilled to procreate with me."**

Amy wanted children. With him. It had been said, more than once, in more than one conversation. It had been implied for years, and Sheldon certainly knew he wanted Amy to be the mother to his children. They would be phenomenal parents. They were going to populate the Red Planet together!

She may say that she didn't want to make a baby right now, but Sheldon just had to prove to her that science was the reason for everything. Yes, his mother would disapprove at first, but she'd probably be so thrilled to have a grandchild that wasn't as dumb as soap that they'd be quickly forgiven.

All Sheldon had to do was get Amy into the mood for some baby-makin' love.

* * *

**"** **Sheldon, please stop trying to seduce me."**

She didn't mean it. Not Amy. Amy had spent years wanting to be seduced, wanting more frequent coitus with Sheldon. He just needed to find the correct kind of seduction.

It wasn't that Sheldon was necessarily craving sexual intimacy for its own sake or even for his sake. It was for sake of science. Yes, they could make a baby in a lab, as they'd once discussed, but it didn't seem the most reasonable solution now. There would be payment to doctors involved, touching one's genitalia in a public building, and there was always the risk that the fertilized zygote wouldn't properly attach to Amy's uterine lining. It also involved the time it took to find the best doctor and facility, to wait for the appointment, the wait to drive there, and even the inevitable wait in the waiting room. It was right there in the name.

The time now was perfect. Amy had stopped taking her birth control two months ago due to some side effects. Perhaps she was just getting used to the cycle of hormones from her ovulating state again, and that was what was making her so unenthusiastic.

No, science waited for no man - and his currently fertile woman - to make a great discovery. The most expedient course of action was to seduce Amy, frequently and with great vigor, until she was incubating the next evolution in mankind.

* * *

**"** **Amy, I didn't want it to come to this, but you have left me no choice but to employ the most passionate, seductive dance known to man: the flamenco."**

Leonard and Penny asked too many questions, as usual, and Sheldon was forced to explain too many simplistic concepts, as usual, so by the time he was able to extricate himself and return across the hallway, Amy was no where to be found. Sheldon stood with his hands on his plaid-covered hips, just below the cummerbund. Amy running with such speed out of their friends' apartment and telling him he was ridiculous was not how he'd planned on this evening ending.

Sheldon pulled off his loose bow tie and threw it on the coffee table in frustration, although he was careful to dodge a still-burning candle. Growling, he leaned over to blow the candle out, and then he circled the apartment, blowing out the rest. How careless of Amy to cause them to leave candles unattended in their home! It was a fire risk and she knew it. Once the candles were out, Sheldon stood and surveyed the room, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the smoke. He couldn't explain it, but his confidence in the situation and Amy's response to it felt like it was curling upward and evaporating, too.

Something was off, and not just because he hadn't succeeded in making Amy see the value of science-demanded sex. Not just because she called him ridiculous and stormed off. But something was wrong, something other than just the dying candles smelled less than rosy.

Plus, his head itched. Not because of the normal itch he got when he'd forgotten something or left something uncompleted, but an external sensation no doubt caused by all that goop in his hair. Well, if Amy was going to disappear, he was going to shower. Maybe he'd even put on his pajamas, curl up in bed with a comic book, and completely ignore her when she returned and no doubt tried to engage him in conversation. That would show her how it felt to have one's effort wasted! Or give him time to determine how - and why, exactly - everything now felt wrong.

Stepping into the dark bedroom, he was surprised to see a sliver of light peeking from beneath the bathroom door. Had he accidentally left it on or was Amy in there? He marched briskly to it, raising his hand to knock -

"Oooooooohhhhhhhhh."

Sheldon stood with his arm still raised. Amy was in the bathroom. But what was she doing? Another moan reached his ears, something longer and lower, and Sheldon's eyebrows shot up. Was Amy -

_Wwwwwrrrrrrrrrrrr._

What was that? The whirring sound, now heard, seemed louder and ever more insistent, and Amy's next noise was more akin to a panicked gasp for air than anything else. The sudden sound of the shower curtain being pulled across the rod spurred him to action.

"Amy! Are you being electrocuted by your hair dryer?" Sheldon yelled as he pushed the bathroom door open.

A piercing scream met him, and he froze.

"What are you doing? Get out!" Amy screamed, grabbing the shower curtain she had been clutching and pulling it tightly across her half-undressed body.

But it was too late. The image was seared into Sheldon's memory: Amy standing with her skirt and tights puddled at one ankle while her other bare foot rested on the edge of the bathtub. She'd been leaning back against the vanity, and the hand that wasn't wrapped around the shower curtain was holding a . . . a . . . something slender and buzzing between her thighs, wiggling and darting between her . . .

Sheldon gulped and starred at his girlfriend, her face flushed and her eyes wide. Her - her vibrator still buzzed behind the shower curtain. "Are you masturbating? But you didn't lock the bedroom door."

"Get out!" Amy yelled again.

"Don't mind me," he said. "Carry on."

He pivoted sharply on his heels and closed the door behind him with a solid thud. But he couldn't walk away. He needed time to process what he'd seen. Amy was masturbating. With a vibrator. And clearly enjoying it. Based on her posture and attire, and the fact he didn't see her when he returned to the apartment, she'd been most eager to do so, rushing across the hall, stripping away only the necessary clothing.

The buzzing had stopped now and Sheldon heard Amy moving behind the door. He called to her, "Did you reach full orgasm? Don't stop short on my account."

"What part of go away don't you understand? I'm not coming out until you're not out there!" It sounded to Sheldon like she was speaking through clenched teeth, and that was never a good sign.

"Alright." Sheldon put his hands up in surrender even though she couldn't see him. He passed back through the bedroom and decided at the last minute to shut that door, too. He went to sit on the love seat with a slump.

Was Amy angry with him? She'd certainly sounded like it. It was possible that her flushed skin wasn't a physical manifestation of sexual excitement but instead was a sign of rage. He'd seen her that angry before. But why? No, he hadn't knocked, but he'd been fearful for her safety. He'd seen her completely naked before, and he'd even seen her orgasm.

She had been masturbating, he was certain of that, and that must be the cause of her distress. Although he was still at a loss as to why; the thought of Amy masturbating caused no overtly emotional response in him. He did it himself for health reasons, and he knew that Amy had a sexual drive that he lacked. It seemed an action as normal as breathing or walking. He already knew she did it on a fairly regular basis. So why the anger at being discovered? And was that a _toothbrush_?

Getting up, he returned to the bedroom door, knocking softly three times. When Amy didn't answer, he slowly opened the door, peeked cautiously around the edge, and saw her lying on her side of the bed with her back to him, fully dressed again. It was the sniffles and the irregular breaths that gave her away.

"Amy, are you crying?" he asked, opening the door wide and crossing to the bed to be near to her. "Why?"

"You wouldn't understand," she said.

Sheldon stood, confused by what he should do. His girlfriend was clearly in distress and probably in need of assistance, and yet she felt that whatever was plaguing her was beyond his limits of comprehension.

Gently, Sheldon sat down on the bed behind her. "I'd like to try."

Amy didn't reply immediately, but then finally she said, "I'm embarrassed because you caught me . . . well, you know."

"Why is that embarrassing? I've seen you naked and sexually aroused before. I already knew that you masturbated, although usually in the bath. I thought you understood that, when I bought you the bath oil."

"But it's private. Don't you understand that?"

Sheldon tilted his head. "I do understand. I've spent an inordinate amount of time in my life trying to avoid this exact topic with Howard. So, if it had been anyone else who opened that bathroom door on you, I'd share your horror. But it was just me." His legs cramping, he stretched out on the bed behind her. "Would you prefer to utilize a signal in the future to let me know I should not enter under any circumstances? Leonard was a fan of hanging a sock on his doorknob when he was engaged in an intimate activity."

"I don't know." She took a long, raspy breath. "Announcing it like that . . . it still seems embarrassing."

"If it makes you feel any better, I do it once a month myself."

She shifted slightly, turning her head toward him. "You do?"

"Yes. In the shower on the first Monday of every month."

"You masturbate once a month, but you won't even consider monthly sex?"

"Oh. I see where the confusion lies." He took a deep breath. "It's not the same. I do it for health reasons, to lower my blood pressure and because there is some evidence, although somewhat disputed, that it can lower the risk of prostate cancer."

"So you don't enjoy it?"

Sheldon considered this. "Not as you mean. I do experience orgasms, you know that. I get the same rush of hormones to the pleasure centers of my brain as you do. But I don't find that I desire that rush any more frequently. I don't even really desire it monthly, but I have a schedule to keep." Then he added, "By doing it in the shower, I find I'm able to both provide some lubrication and limit the distasteful messiness."

Amy had rolled fully on her back now and was watching him closely. "What do you think about? Do you think about . . . sex?"

"I have - had standard set of imagery I've devised of pop culture females traditionally considered sexually attractive, like Cat Woman. But they're not engaging in sexual activity, if that's what you mean."

"So never sex?"

After an inhalation, Sheldon replied, "Yes, sex, but that's a more recent development. Before we had coitus the first time, I visualized the steps in my mind while masturbating, as preparation. And, then, afterwards, I usually, um, recall that night."

"With me?"

It seemed like such an absurd question that Sheldon took a minute to respond. "The coitus is always with you. Who else would it be? And you were the last image in my old set of visuals."

Amy rolled over sharply again. "How can you discuss it like this, so clinically, and not be embarrassed?"

Sheldon frowned at her back. That was not the response he expected. "Because it is clinical to me. It's considered a healthy human experience."

"I don't know." Sheldon heard in her voice she was crying again.

"Why are you crying again?"

"Because of today. If making love to me is so clinical for you, if you have to practice it in the shower just to withstand how distasteful you find it, then why the roses and candles? Why are you teasing me, toying with me like that?"

Reaching up with his free hand, Sheldon rubbed his face. In those two questions, Amy had actually asked for far more than two answers. And some of them Sheldon didn't even know.

"Making love to you isn't clinical, Amy, just my preparation for it. In fact, I find it the very opposite of clinical, which is one of the things that I struggle to deal with. Do I wish it could be achieved without any extra bodily fluids? Yes. I find those elements distasteful. But not you or your involvement in the process. And, while I don't have an urge to enjoy sex for myself, I greatly enjoyed it when we undertook it. I'm trying to understand that difference myself."

"If you don't desire it, why do all those horrible things, why make it such a horrible day?"

Pulling his head back, Sheldon asked, "How was it a horrible day? I spent all day trying to woo you. It seems like what you would want."

Amy's voice broke again. "The worst part is you don't understand why it wasn't what I wanted."

Sheldon reached out to touch the dip of her waist and, even though she jerked a little, she did not pull away. "Then tell me. Explain it to me," he whispered.

"I don't want you to try and get me into bed just because you want a baby."

"But I know we both want children. And we're in bed right now."

"Sex, Sheldon, I meant sex!" She sniffled. "I want you to have sex with me because you want to be with me."

"Amy, I always want to be with you when we have sex. I wouldn't perform that mating dance for just anyone."

"But that dance wasn't you, Sheldon. Or the hair or the brandy or any of it. You didn't mean it, it was things you thought you should do. I want you to woo me by being yourself. It didn't feel like you actually wanted to make love with me, it felt like you were trying to prove a point. Or just trying to complete a science experiment. It wasn't about sharing anything with me, it was about doing something _to_ me." She sniffled. "I so rarely get to enjoy being intimate with you, is it too much to ask that your efforts are sincere?"

It hit him so hard that he might have fallen over if he weren't already supine. Amy was right. Hadn't he just realized how silly his antics had been as he was blowing out those candles? The truth was he got so caught up in winning a battle with Amy that he'd forgotten exactly what he was trying to convince her to do. If she'd given into his cajoling just to quiet him, it wouldn't have been making love. Although he remained ambivalent to many of the physical facets to coitus, the one thing that he enjoyed the most was being so emotionally connected with Amy, finding a tangible way to show her how much he cherished her.

With a little effort he managed to slip an arm under her and pulled himself closer to her back.

"Please don't," Amy said and Sheldon froze. "I don't want you to try to have sex with me because you pity me, either."

Her words stung, and Sheldon rebutted, perhaps sharper than he should have, "I'm not trying to have sex with you. I'm trying to comfort you with a hug. I'm trying to tell you that you're right."

"I'm sorry. I'm so awful." This statement was punctuated with a fresh wail.

Throwing caution to the wind, Sheldon completed what he set out to do initially, holding her close enough that he could curl around her smaller frame, resting his chin just behind her shoulder, where he could whisper in her ear, "No, you're not. I'm the defective one. If I were normal, none of this would have happened."

"Oh, Sheldon." Amy reached down and rested her hands over his. "You're not defective. You're just you."

"But I can't seem to get this right. I can't even figure myself out," he whispered. Then, with a gulp, he asked, "Do you want me to move out?"

"No! No." Amy's head turned and he could see her face in profile now. "We've both made mistakes and over reacted. And we _will_ get it right, it just may take some time. I love you and I don't want either one of us to leave."

"I don't want you crying in bed about sex, either."

Amy twisted slightly in his arms, but his grip was too tight to allow her to roll. "Listen, you're not perfect. I'm not perfect. There are several things about you that perhaps I might think about changing. But then I remember that then you wouldn't be you anymore. And there are so many more things that I love about you and never want to change. So, I accept you as you are. At least this quirk I can understand. All relationships have difficulties and compromises, and this is just one of ours. I love you for so much more than sex. But even if you accept a relationship as the relationship you want most in the world, that doesn't mean it is isn't hard."

Sheldon nodded into her shoulder. "Perhaps you're right."

He held Amy close and closed his eyes, squeezing them to avoid crying. For his own stupidity, for how callous his actions must have seemed, for how fortunate he was to have Amy's understanding and unwavering love even when he couldn't give her everything she wanted. And because Amy was right: this was the relationship he wanted most in the word, but that didn't mean it wasn't hard.

Gradually, he felt Amy relax in his arms and her exhalations calmed and slowed. Gently, he pulled away from her and got out of bed.

"Where are you going?" Amy mumbled, not even opening her eyes.

"I just want to wash this gel out of my hair. It's why I was going to the bathroom in the first place. Don't worry, go to sleep. I'll come back."

"Okay."

In the bathroom, he avoided looking at himself in the mirror, willing the steam to cover it so he could ignore how foolish he looked. He stripped off his white shirt and plaid pants and folded them carefully. If only he could strip off his shame. Just as he was about to step into the shower, he stopped and wrapped a towel around his waist. He returned to the bedroom and bent down over his prone girlfriend. "Amy, are you asleep?" he whispered.

Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked at him. "No, not really."

"Would you - would you like join me in the shower?"

Amy's eyes widened as she raised herself up in one arm. "You want to shower together?"

"I should clarify. I'm not proposing coitus in the shower. And not even for the usual reasons; slippery porcelain seems like the most dangerous place outside of a jungle to have sex. But it _is_ something intimate that I'd love to do with you."

She nodded, and Sheldon took her hand to help her off the bed and kept holding it all the way to the bathroom.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	15. Chapter 15

**"** **Amy? Wake up. It's midnight."**

As December dawned, a change came over Amy. It was so subtle at first that Sheldon thought maybe he'd imagined it; but, with each passing day, he became more certain. First, there was the way she looked at him from across the room, holding it just a beat longer than normal. She managed to touch his arm more often when she passed him. He awoke more frequently in the middle of the night to find himself being held by her. Amy's fingers found extra excuses to interweave with his own when they were watching television or reading in bed. When he dried off after a shower, she started to blush before she turned away to pretend she wasn't staring. She initiated more make-out sessions and remained longer in the bathtub afterwards, her skin even more flushed than usual when she returned. Sheldon went through an entire container of orange juice in a single week.

As he was not a stupid man, Sheldon quickly inferred the meaning of all these actions. Her birthday was approaching which also meant their second coital event was as well. It was only natural she would eagerly anticipate something she enjoyed so much. Amy was counting down the days by filling them with lingering glances and soft caresses and aching needs.

What he did not expect, though, was how much he enjoyed the change. Her smiles seemed softer at times and her eyes fairly danced with excitement. The blush in her cheeks only made her more beautiful. Each tiny action, each coy little glance, was an act of foreplay, a precursor of what would follow on a much greater scale.

He found himself replaying their first night together in his mind, and he returned to it more and more. The first sight of her naked, no longer unusual now, was still a powerful memory. The little moans she made, the little puffs of breath against his neck, the feel of her fingertips running down his spine - all of these he closed his eyes to relive. He analyzed his actions, recalling his missteps and his successes, deciding what he would alter this time. He woke up early more than once to finish his shower before Amy awoke in the week leading up to her birthday. If she ever noticed the sock hanging from the bathroom doorknob, she didn't comment on it.

And then a change came over him. He started to crave those memories. Not just to plan improvements but for their own sake. He started to imagine a different sequence of events, not just for practice, but because he found conjuring Amy's reactions in a not-yet-experienced setting . . . exciting. Shooing her out the door to an early birthday outing with Penny and a very pregnant Bernadette, he rushed to the shower to use her bath oil and to visualize a sequence of events that would result in her face at the moment of orgasm, the way her neck arched, the way her skin flushed, the cry such as he'd never heard before -

"Arrrrrrrrrr!" he cried out himself, releasing into the stream of hot water, his free palm pressed against the tiles to remain upright.

Sheldon raised his head, panting, gratified but confused. Was this was it meant to fantasize? Was this . . . sexual desire? Lust, even? Was he lusting after his girlfriend's body and the things he could do to it for their mutual pleasure?

* * *

**"** **We seem to be moving on to the annual coitus portion of your birthday festivities."**

It was one thing to have occasional flashes of what he presumed was sexual desire for Amy, but it was another all together to discover a craving for her that did not lessen or pass as the day progressed. By bedtime on her birthday eve, the newly-hatched desire Sheldon felt in the shower the evening before had only grown stronger. On went his come-hither pajamas, he confirmed the still-distant expiration date on the condom box for the fifteenth time, and he set the alarm on his phone for midnight.

Tired from work, Amy fell asleep almost instantly, but Sheldon remained awake, staring up at the ceiling. As excited as he was for Amy's birthday, the edges of that excitement were tempered with confusion. What had changed? And, more importantly, why had it changed? Technically, even a single episode of sexual drive meant he wasn't asexual. And Sheldon had always been asexual. Always.

It felt too revealing to find something he wore like a blanket stripped away from him. But, for the next twenty-four hours or so, he'd instead wear the blanket of Amy's physical form draped over him and surrounding him. First he would allow Amy the joy of his desire and relish the reciprocal feeling, and then, later, he would contemplate the unexpected.

* * *

**"** **Guys, wake up! Bernadette's having her baby!"**

Really? It was a known fact among their friends that he and Amy would have coitus once a year, on her birthday. Sharing that information had not only seemed unavoidable, but it also served a beneficial purpose as it prevented them from getting asked questions or, worse, having to listen to assumptions.

But, really? Today of all days? Tonight of all nights? Bernadette couldn't cross her legs or anything else to remain pregnant until tomorrow?

* * *

**"** **I don't want to disappoint you. Come on, it's your birthday. I can soldier through this."**

If this was lust, he had no use for it. One minute it was there - really a good thirty-six hours it was there - and then, poof!, it was gone without explanation. Something waited well into his thirties to find him and then it couldn't even stick around to perform its function? He was meant to be rollicking with Amy in a lust blanket.

Sheldon wanted Amy's birthday to be special. He wanted their act of physical love to be sincere. That was the cutting word she had used when he'd behaved so appalling, trying to seduce her for the wrong reasons. And his feelings were still sincere, but now it didn't seem like the act was.

No, he was determined. This was the event she'd been looking forward to for an entire year now, and he'd promised her that he'd be present and participatory. If the love was sincere, surely he could find the desire again.

* * *

**"** **I thought I'd let Harry Potter make things hotter."**

Wowza. Amy looked just like the room of desperately needed requirement that appeared just when he wanted it most, filled to the brim with desire.

* * *

**"** **You have got to be kidding me!"**

So, it turned out curse words were needed in some instances after all.

* * *

**"** **Now it is time to complete your birthday celebration. Hankius pankius."**

"Are you ready?" Amy called unseen but her voice was thick and seductive. Apparently it was a rhetorical question because, before Sheldon could reply, she stepped out of the bathroom, the gray Wizarding World sweatshirt replaced by her black Hufflepuff robe from earlier.

Even on his second sighting, it took Sheldon's breath away: his beautiful girlfriend in a shapeless black gown that emphasized her supreme intelligence. He imagined her studying in it, raising her hand with every question. Then her lips - those lips! - would form the perfectly enunciated correct answer.

"But I didn't put mine on," he said. When Amy went to the bathroom, he'd completely undressed and got under the covers naked. Last time, it had taken just over four minutes for them each to remove and fold what they'd wore to bed, and, after all the delays they'd had today, he thought maybe they'd make up for some lost time.

"It's okay," Amy said, walking toward the bed with one hand on her hip and a wide swing in her stride.

"Did you pull a muscle? You're walking funny." Sheldon sat up straighter.

"No, Sheldon." She stopped next to the bed and flipped her dark hair, an unusual action for her. "I thought, 'Amy, it's a robe, not a nightgown. It's not meant to be worn into bed. It's meant to come off before bed.' Right?"

"Well, I suppose, but I think it's a different use of the word. I can't imagine Harry putting on his Hogworts robe when he gets out of the bath. It's not very absorbent."

"Just watch." Amy reached for the zipper pull at her neck and started lowering it. Slowly. Sheldon angled forward. She didn't speed up.

"Is the zipper caught?" he asked.

His girlfriend sighed. "Just watch."

"Alright." He sat back as the zipper continued its unhurried descent, until Amy suddenly stopped somewhere above her navel, and then lowered one shoulder of the robe. Unlike before, she wasn't wearing anything underneath and inch-by-inch her bare second most erogenous ball and socket joint revealed itself. Gravity took over and the other side fell, too, and Amy reached up to catch the robe from falling completely off, but not before one of her nipples slipped over the top of the fabric.

Sheldon licked his lips and swallowed. "Oh, it's a strip tease."

"Do you like it?"

"Just for clarification, you are going to unzip the rest, correct? You're not just going to leave it halfway unzipped are you?"

"Um, how about you do the honors?"

A pause and a small shrug. "Very well."

Sheldon shuffled toward her side of the bed under the covers, until he could lower his legs, and he reached for the zipper pull. His knuckles brushed the skin just below her breasts and she shivered under his touch. Glancing up, he saw she was grinning at him. He couldn't help but smile back.

This is what he remembered with fondness from their first coupling: Amy's nervous excitement, the shining glow of anticipation on her face. Magic trains and reports to authority were one type of foreplay, but this was Amy's type. He lowered the zipper just as slowly as she had, letting his knuckles stay in contact with her skin all the way down. When he felt her pubic hair brush against his knuckles, she gasped slightly and he gulped. He was already fully erect, aching in anticipation of a desire delayed. Lust was his friend again.

At last the robe was unzipped, although she held it still. There was one long, creamy line of Amy before him, only broken by the dark patch at the apex of her thighs. Sheldon looked up at her and slipped both arms between the fabric and her skin, around her hips, and tugged her closer to him so that he was gently hugging her. This wasn't at all how it had started last time. "Is this what I should do?"

"Yes," Amy whispered.

He leaned forward and kissed that exposed strip of skin, his mouth just at the level of the valley between her breasts. "And this?"

"Oh, yes."

Her skin tasted like . . . wool and soap and a faint touch of the butter beer she'd spilled earlier. He ran the tip of his tongue up her breastbone, gathering all of her, and Amy gasped slightly. Even though he touched her with his tongue last time, he realized he had not really tasted her, savored her, the way his taste buds lit up and tingled from her unique combination of flavors. He had said he liked his senses filled by Amy, but yet he'd neglected this one until now.

Amy let her arms fall and the robe slipped and billowed from her body, puddling on the floor at her feet. Sheldon was close enough now he could hear her shallow breath and see the gooseflesh on her skin. Glancing up at her, he angled his head and reached for that teasing nipple with his lips, already erect for him. It tasted different, smoother and sweeter. Amy moaned and her fingers wove their way into his hair. Oh! He loved that, the swirls and tiny grips at his scalp. Moving to the other nipple, Sheldon slide his palms back and cupped her bottom with his hands. It was ripe and amble, and the thought of it straining under her skirts flashed in his mind, causing Sheldon to clutch it tighter. He slipped one hand lower, teasing the few hairs he could feel, and Amy moaned again.

Could she tell, could she feel that these were not just nervous explorations such as before, but rather the acts of desire? He wanted her so badly, every inch of her, he wanted every part of her body to be open to him, to make her shutter and resonate with his longing, to take his desire, absorb it and amplify it within herself.

"Can, um, can you get into bed now?" he whispered, his voice trembling with need. "I want to - I want to do this in a different order than last time."

Once she was next to him, Sheldon angled over Amy, kissing her mouth and cheeks and along her jaw and neck. His body was ready, had been ready, but he wanted to make sure she was. "Can I touch your vulva?" he asked.

"Please do."

Last time, this part of her body was saturated with his own semen, leaking out and coating everything. He expected something different this time, moist, yes, with her own secretions, but Sheldon was surprised that there was so much moisture it had even leaked into her curls there. "Amy, it's - you're actually soaking with lubrication." It wasn't said with disgust, such as he thought years ago he would find such a thing, but instead it was said with surprise and satisfaction that he'd already had this effect upon her.

"Are you talking dirty to me, Sheldon Cooper?"

"No, I'm just stating an observable fact -"

"Let's call it talking dirty and don't stop," she ordered.

Startled, Sheldon complied, his fingers following the steps he remembered from his first experience, his memory reminding him of what she suggested and enjoyed then. But this time, rather than just thinking that her clitoris had swollen another thirty percent from when he first touched it, he whispered it in her ear.

And when, after Amy had begged him with the words, "Inside, inside" and he had slipped two fingers in over the first of her otherworldly noises, he murmured, "Fascinating. The lubrication in your vagina is more vicious."

Amy gasped and panted out new suggestions to him, and, finally, a year after he'd first heard it, she cried out beneath him, and, once again, his shoulders were gripped and beautifully scarred by her orgasm.

Then she panted out, "Condom." Sheldon hated to leave her, but he managed to open the package and apply the prophylactic with only a minimal shaking of his hands. He'd been practicing that, too.

The next part was nothing like the first time, either. Amy practically dragged his larger body over her, and, as he told her, it was far easier to slide into her this time. Suddenly, Amy wrapped her legs around him, and he gasped into her ear, "I estimate the change in angle allows me to penetrate by an additional fifteen percent."

Sheldon was completely caught up in her, his body fighting the methodical steps he'd planned. Last time had been too short and he was determined to make it last longer for Amy this time. He had hoped the condom would help, but, now, trapped in the midst of her, he wasn't sure it would.

But "Faster," she pleaded.

"If I increase my speed, I will decrease the duration," he explained.

"Please, Sheldon, faster."

It was easy to acquiesce to her wishes because the increase in speed only made it feel better, and he stopped talking and gave himself over to her. He was trapped by her body, but he found it was a luminescent net. He lowered himself slightly and pressed faster and pulled each thrust back farther and the sounds rolling from Amy were louder than he remembered, longer and deeper, too, and, a glimmer in the fog came to him that perhaps he could make her orgasm again, that he'd get to share it with her.

Instead, it was Amy who entreated him, "Let go."

And he did, with one last, especially deep thrust and the release that came was stronger and brighter than any orgasm in his memory. He hadn't realized he'd collapsed against her until she shifted beneath him and tried to push him up.

"I'm sorry." He rose back up on his elbows but her legs wouldn't let him pull away yet.

Amy smiled up at him. "You really enjoyed that." It wasn't a question this time.

"I did." He reached down to kiss her softly. "I think you enjoyed it more this time, too."

"I did."

"I thought maybe I could make you orgasm again, but . . ." he shrugged.

Amy released her legs and one of her hands came to his cheek. "It was wonderful this way. I was still so sensitive, it felt amazing every time you thrust close to me."

They rolled together, Amy's head against his chest, and Sheldon let his clean hand run through her hair, trying not to catch on the tangles. At first, they didn't speak, and only the sound of their fading pants filled the room. He hated to break the spell, but he reminded her, "I have to take this condom off and you need to use the bathroom." He already had the uncomfortable sensation of everything leaking out around his flaccid penis.

"I will. I promise. In a minute. But go ahead, if you need to." Amy lifted herself off of him.

Sheldon paused but then quickly reached down to remove the spent conceptive and tossed it into the small lined trash can he'd set close to the bed last night just for this purpose. He wiped his hand on a tissue and tossed that as well.

Angling to look at her, watching him, he licked his lips and laid back down, opening his arms for her again.

Amy's eyebrows raised slightly, but she snuggled in next to him just as they had been. She ran her fingertips over his chest. "It was different than last time."

"Yes. We both knew what to expect. We started foreplay in a different position. You changed the angle of penetration by -"

"Not that." She lifted her head slightly to look at him. "You seemed . . . eager."

Sheldon looked down into her inquisitive eyes. "I was. I've been looking forward to it, actually."

"I thought . . . I thought you didn't crave sex."

He gave out a little puff of air. "I don't normally. But I noticed a change in you recently, and I enjoyed watching it. And, then when the one week mark approached, I started applying myself to preparations, and the more I thought about it the more interested I was. I even started . . . fantasizing."

"Thus the sock on the doorknob in the mornings."

"You knew?"

"I woke up and saw it." She shrugged. "I didn't say anything because I thought it would be hypocritical after the way I acted when . . . you know." Sheldon squeezed her shoulder to let her know it was in the past. Amy took a deep breath. "What changed your perspective?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe I'm a Vulcan after all. Are you familiar with the concept of Pon farr?"

"Is that when Spock has sex every five years?"

"Seven years. But yes. And it's not just a schedule, but a need. A Vulcan actually craves coitus during Pon farr, so much so that if they don't find release they will go insane and die."

Amy's eyebrows dipped. "I'm not sure I understand what you're trying to tell me. Every woman likes to think she's a man killer, but I don't actually want you to die."

Sheldon shook his head. "I don't, either. But . . . but I kept thinking about your face when you orgasm because I never get to see it any other time, and it's the most beautiful thing. And I thought about how it felt to be touched by you, surrounded by you, and I wanted to experience it again. To be that close to you."

Amy sat up next to him, the curve of her breasts catching the light. "Maybe now isn't the time, but . . . does that mean you're no longer asexual?"

Sheldon took a deep breath. "That's a question I've asked a thousand times. It's a struggle for me to understand myself, Amy. I should have told you before, but even - even before the first time we had coitus, there were occasional flashes when I felt something that I think was sexual desire. They were so rare and brief - just seconds - that I had trouble qualifying them."

"Really?" Amy's voice was breathy.

"Yes." He reached for her hand, toying with her fingers. "But I'm no closer to the ultimate answer to your question. I know that asexuals can and do have sex for the sake of their partners. I know that some asexuals even enjoy sex when their partner initiates it, and now I know I am among that number. But only time will tell if I begin to crave it outside of the schedule. It might just be Pon Farr."

"You do know that Pon farr isn't real, right?"

"And, despite my childhood dreams, I'm not a Vulcan. But that doesn't change the fact that I could be following a similar pattern of sexual need. The writers got the idea from somewhere."

His girlfriend bit her lip and he could tell she was debating on something. "Go ahead," he prompted her softly, squeezing her hand.

"Do you . . ." She looked down. "Do you want to be asexual?" Her head snapped back up and she added quickly, "I mean, if you could choose. I know you can't."

Wow. He hadn't expected that; he'd never considered it in those terms. "I don't know. There have been times that I don't want to be, for you, because it's what you want. But . . ." He paused to choose his next few words. "It's who I've always been. I'm not sure how I'd feel if the entire paradigm of my sexuality changed. I think it . . . frightens me, a little. I'm sorry."

"I only want you to be honest." She squeezed his hand. "It's not a binary thing, though, Sheldon. It's not black or white."

"But I love binary code," Sheldon whispered. "It's so straightforward. I wouldn't know what to do without it."

Amy leaned down to kiss his jaw. "Well, then, write a new operating system. Maybe one that curves," she said softly. "But I love you, regardless."

"I love you, too."

"Let me go to the bathroom, and then will you take a shower with me?"

"Of course."

After Amy shut the bathroom door, Sheldon stretched out in bed. He felt sated and loved and in love and at peace and . . . confused. Just write a new operating system. That's all. She made it sound so easy.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	16. Chapter 16

**"** **So my mother thought I was incapable of finding a mate, and my mate thinks I'm incapable of running my own life."**

"What's the matter, hon? Couldn't sleep?"

Sheldon turned from the kitchen table to see his mother, wrapped in a bathrobe, walking into the kitchen.

"It seems I've become accustomed to having Amy sleeping next to me in bed," he explained, taking a drink of his hot chocolate. "Sorry I woke you. Although, we'd both be asleep right now if you'd let her sleep in my room. I am an adult, you know. We've been sleeping in the same bed for months now."

"And I," Mary Cooper said, emptying a packet of Swiss Miss into another mug, "am still a Christian. No unmarried couples sleeping in the same bed under my roof."

"That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think?" Sheldon snorted. "Need I remind you -"

"No, you do not." Mary poured the hot water from the kettle into her mug and stood stirring at the counter. Sheldon watched her, wondering who would start talking first. But, finally, she turned and sat down next to him. "Shelly, I have made mistakes in my life, I admit that. But forcing you to sleep alone for a few nights is not one of them."

"We wouldn't have coitus."

She took a drink. "I'm sure you wouldn't."

"No, really. I'm serious. We only have coitus once a year, on Amy's birthday. I suppose she told you that during one of your telephone gab sessions, too."

His mother shook her head. "No, I didn't know." But she said nothing else.

"Really? Because you don't seem surprised. And you've not asked me a plethora of personal follow-up questions like everyone else does."

Shifting on her chair, Mary replied, "I'm not surprised. Well, maybe a little surprised that you had relations at all."

About to take a drink, Sheldon sat his mug down quickly and studied his mother for a moment. She was looking down into the top of her cocoa as if she could read something in it. "You knew I was -" He paused. Ninety-nine percent asexual? He settled for "- unconventional? Is that what you meant by the trains?"

Mary leaned forward and patted his hand. "Shelly, you've always been different in so many ways, so many very special ways. And, yes, I always thought that your . . . disinterest was one of them."

"But - but when I asked you for the ring, I told you we'd consummate the marriage. Didn't you believe me?"

"I believed that you loved Amy and that you'd probably make it to naked for her. The rest . . ." She sighed. "Honestly, I wasn't sure."

"Oh." Sheldon gulped. No need to tell her that he wasn't sure about that, either, until almost the moment it happened. "Well, for record, my locomotive pulled fully into that station."

"Good to hear it." Mary patted his hand once more and sat back in her chair.

"You're really not angry?"

"I think I didn't express myself well before. Sheldon, I'm happy you found someone who loves you and accepts you as you are. That's what really matters to me at the end of the day."

"But not in the middle of the night," Sheldon mumbled. Then, louder, "Is that why you really thought I'd be alone? Because I'm . . . like this?"

Mary put her hand on the side of his face. "Oh, Shelly. It's not what I thought so much as what I worried about. I always wanted you to know the power of love, true love, to understand what it means to stand by someone through thick and thin, forgiving them for all their sins and being forgiven. The peace that comes with knowing that someone will pick up where you lack. Everyone deserves that kind of love. So, yes, I worried that your . . . situation would rob you of that experience. Words cannot express how happy I am for you. And for Amy. You might not like to hear this, but she is the answer to my prayers. You two truly are a match made in heaven."

It was one the tip of Sheldon's tongue to tell her that there was no heaven and no fictional deity to hear her prayers. But then he remembered what Amy said about understanding how other people felt, and, in a strange way, he understood exactly how his mother felt. If he ever started believing in miracles, then surely Amy's love for him would be the first one.

But best not to let his mother know he was contemplating anything divine; instead, he said, "Don't touch me there. My ear still hurts."

His mother smiled, took her arm away, stood, and walked back toward her bedroom. But she stopped just in the kitchen doorway and turned around. "Oh, and Shelly, I said no sleeping in the same bed. There's still two twin beds in that room Amy's got, you know."

He sat for a moment in the harsh light of the kitchen and considered what his mother told him. All of it. Then, after rinsing out both the mugs and turning off the kitchen light, Sheldon padded down the hallway to the bedroom he shared with Missy until Georgie moved out. Amy was sound asleep in his sister's old bed, and he crawled into the one next to it and rolled on his side to watch her sleeping. Sheldon stretched his arm out across the divide, not able to touch her, but just knowing that she was the one who finally made him want to touch someone was enough.

Sheldon whispered softly to her, "Thank you for understanding. About . . . everything." And then he found the sleep he was missing, lulled by the sweet and familiar sounds of her gentle snores.

* * *

**"** **I will bring them home so you can show me how Godzilla takes a shower."**

It didn't happen often, most mornings being plotted and timed to get to work on schedule. But sometimes on weekends now, Amy would join him in the shower. Sheldon would help rinse her hair and she'd help wash his back. They'd plan their day if they hadn't already done so. They'd shuffle and smile past each other to take turns under the hot stream of water. Finer points of gossip from the usual Friday evening gathering across the hall would be dissected. They'd pass each other shampoo and soap, and then, at the end, dry towels.

Intimate but not sexual.

* * *

**"** **It's more than that. It's me. I always knew I had trouble recognizing other people's emotions, but that machine just made it so real."**

"Ah, that's better," Sheldon said when Amy's glasses were back on her face. "I don't like it when you don't look like yourself."

"I don't wear my glasses to bed."

"Well, that's different. Then you're sexy Amy."

"Sex - sexy Amy?"

"You know the one, with the tangled hair and the teakettle nose."

Amy blushed and smiled. "Sheldon, are you flirting with me?"

"Goodness, no. Now who needs the emotion detector?" He shook his head and climbed out of bed. "Did you say beef loaf?"

"Did I really say _exactly_ the way you are?" Amy mumbled behind him.

"Yep," he called back as he left the bedroom.

Knowing she couldn't see him, he smiled softly. He was going to make out with her after dinner until her nasal cavity went supersonic.

* * *

**"** **It's humiliating. Thanks to you, my colleagues are gossiping about our sex life."**

"Amy, are you really asleep or are you still pretending to be angry that you drove me to the train museum?" Sheldon whispered, as he crawled under the covers with his girlfriend.

"They're not mutually exclusive, you know; I'm not asleep but I'm also not pretending to be angry," came the muffled reply. A pause, and then she said, louder, "You know what?" Amy rolled over and pulled herself upright. "I'm the one who taught you how to drive. Don't I get a little credit for that?"

"Of course you do. I wouldn't have passed my driving test without you. You gave me the confidence to do all sorts of things I didn't think I was capable of before I met you."

"So you think it's okay to tell everyone I gave you the confidence to have sex but not the confidence to drive a car? Don't you understand the difference?" she pressed.

"Does this mean you haven't forgiven me and accepted my zones of privacy?"

"No." Amy took a deep breath. "I really appreciate that you've come to the conclusion that some things are private. I just . . . need some clarification, I guess. Why did you tell everyone about our intimacy in the first place?"

"You told Penny and Bernadette."

"That's different; they're my best friends, not the lunch lady. Besides, I just told them that we made love and that I enjoyed it. It was all I was allowed to say because of your stupid non-disclosure agreement."

"Hey! Don't insult that agreement!"

"Never mind." Amy flopped back down and pulled away from him. "Like you said, there isn't much of a sex life to talk about, anyway."

Reaching up to rub his face, Sheldon replied, "Is that what you're really angry about? You could have brought up the schedule yourself instead getting angry the first time someone else does."

He heard her take another deep breath. "I'm not angry about the schedule itself, Sheldon. It's what I agreed to. I'm just - What if everyone thinks it's my fault? What if they think you don't want to have sex with me because of how I look?" The last part was almost a whisper.

Oh. Sheldon hadn't considered that. Amy was worried that everyone would think she was unattractive or defective, not that . . . not that he was. "Amy, I -"

"I know. It's not your fault either, and I shouldn't have said that. It's just who you are. But . . ." Amy rolled over, softly this time, her head still upon the pillow, "but all my life I've been the odd, ugly duckling. No one has ever wanted to be like me, to have anything I had. But then I finally get not just a man who loves me, but a painfully handsome man with a gorgeous body. Sometimes . . . sometimes I want someone to be jealous of _me_."

Sheldon raised his head off the pillow and studied her. He almost blurted that that was a silly thing to say, why did Amy care what anyone thought of her? Since when did she care? Amy always seemed so self-confident and sure. But then he realized that this was a difficult thing for her to say. Perhaps he'd become so accustomed to her acceptance and patience, that he'd forgotten about the other emotions - illogical may they be - that she suppressed from the world. For him.

"I'm jealous of you," he said.

Her brows dipped. "What do you mean?"

"Not that I could have sex with myself. Or would want to, even with my doppelgänger. But I wish I had the capacity to want it as much you do. I did, for a week or so, and then . . . it went away. I _do_ think you're beautiful Amy, you have to know that. But, for me, it's not the same thing. I wish it were. I wish I was able to make you as happy as you make me."

"Oh, Sheldon." Amy pulled herself closer and Sheldon wrapped an arm around her. "That's not what I meant. Not really. I don't want you to change who you are for me. I only want you to change for yourself, if you want to. What I really mean is I wanted everyone to look at you and be jealous that I was tapping that ass multiple times a week, even if it isn't true."

"I'm not a maple tree, Amy. And if you were tapping my buttocks, wouldn't the syrup -"

"Don't finish that sentence," she interrupted him. Then, less sharp, "And I know I shouldn't think that, I know it's catty and silly. And ultimately unimportant. I shouldn't objectify you any more than I should want myself objectified. I love your mind most of all, you know that, right?"

Sheldon kissed the top of her head. "I love your mind most of all, too."

They laid like that for several minutes, Sheldon running his fingers through her hair, each lost in their own thoughts. Then, he asked, "What can I do, Amy? Do you want me to tell everyone we have coitus daily? In adventurous positions? Tell me."

"No," she said firmly. "Let's not compound the problem by lying."

"Walk naked through the cafeteria and kiss you in front of everyone?"

"Definitely not. I'm pretty sure that would result in your unemployment."

With a single nod, Sheldon murmured, "True." A pause. "You're not an odd, ugly duckling, Amy. I told everyone because I was so enamored with you that first night. And not just with your mind. I confess that I _do_ objectify you when we are intimate. How about I tell everyone about that? I could write it on the bathroom stall in the men's restroom:

A biologist from UCLA  
Has quite a body I have to say  
She came to Caltech  
I love kissing her neck  
She is sexy and a fantastic -"

"Stop!" Amy had sat up somewhere in the middle of the poem and now she looked at Sheldon with an expression that seemed to be a frown fighting with laughter. "Don't do that. I think that belongs in our central zone of privacy, don't you?"

"Alright." The smile won on Amy's face and she settled in close to him again. "But Amy?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"I've got to finish." She chuckled and he bent closer to whisper in her ear, " - lay."

* * *

**"** **Maybe what's in my pants will change your mind. It's a list of this year's panelists. It's long, isn't it?"**

Flirting: once an expert, always an expert.

* * *

**"** **Beverley believes I unconsciously consider my old room an escape hatch."**

This wouldn't do at all. Having arrived in this bed with Amy, night after night, Sheldon had no desire to leave it. Or her. He didn't feel trapped. Maybe just a little sweltering from Amy's bottom. And even that wasn't enough to make the thought of her terrifying.

He didn't have unconscious thoughts about escaping from this relationship. If anyone was going to be conscious of their unconscious thoughts, it would be him. Sheldon had nothing to escape from, nothing he wanted to escape from. He had a ring and everything to prove it.

Rolling over, hoping to ease the discomfort of his mind by easing the discomfort of his body, Sheldon wondered if he'd ever be a good enough man to deserve to propose. He'd been thinking about it again lately. And just when he thought things were going well here with Amy, well enough she would say yes, something like this came along to make him doubt himself.

* * *

**"** **I just think you're the kind of person who likes a contingency plan."**

Up before the alarm went off, Sheldon was just finishing Amy's favorite breakfast of French toast when she came into the living room, looking more rumbled than usual and yawning.

"What are you doing up? Cooking? It smells good."

He smiled at her. "Good morning. I made you French toast. Sit down; it's almost done."

"What's the occasion? It's high fiber cereal day."

"Oh, nothing really," he shrugged, moving two slices of toast from the skillet onto a plate.

"Sheldon? What did you do?" Amy's voice took on a tone of disbelief.

Sliding the syrup over to her, Sheldon inhaled deeply. "You're correct, I do like contingency plans, so I wanted you to know that you're my contingency plan. But then I thought that wouldn't work because you're already my primary plan. And then I decided that your ghost is my contingency plan."

Amy's fork stopped where it was, about to spear a bite of breakfast. "My ghost? Like Heathcliff?"

"I'd like to think that your ghost would be less moody and spend less time outdoors in such harsh elements as the English moor. Although," he tilted his head, "that would explain why your ghost would be brooding. Oh, now I get it." Then he shook his head. "No, I'll need your disembodied soul to be something more jolly and indoors, like Casper. Scooby-Doo under a sheet is scary enough."

"Weellll," Amy said slowly, dragging the word out, "as terms of endearment go, I guess it beats cannibalism, so okay."

Sheldon put two more slices on a plate. "Can I be your ghost, too? I like the idea of haunting you."

"Um, sure."

"Oh, who would I be? Hamlet's father? Not the headless horseman, I need my brain." Sheldon walked around to sit next to her at the island.

Swallowing a bite, Amy said, "I guess I see you as the Moaning Myrtle type."

"Really? The bathroom?" Sheldon wrinkled his nose as he reached for his fork. "Well, you think on that. Hopefully, we'll be ghosts together, pulling fiendish shenanigans on our friends, like rearranging their sock drawers or changing a single digit in their checkbook." He laughed at his own vision, of Leonard endlessly trying to balance the account but always being just one cent off.

Amy turned to look at him with a smile, and it occurred to him that it was the first time she'd smiled all morning. "I'd like that."

* * *

**"** **You know, we've never collaborated professionally before. Are you worried it might affect our relationship?"**

Honestly, the only thing Sheldon was worried about was whether or not Amy's intelligence would gyrate and tantalize him into a lather that would transmute into a such a strong desire to kiss her that he would have no choice but to follow where his lips led. It was unlikely they'd make much progress in this new field of study if they couldn't speak for all that kissing.

Her brain had that effect on him.

But he did not let it worry him for long. Kissing Amy, making out with Amy, was delightful. It was something Amy enjoyed, as well. No, he hadn't gotten any closer to fully understanding why there was a divide between such a sensual, tactile, and, yes, intimate act with her but not a more sensual, more tactile, and even more intimate one. However, none of that seemed to matter when he was so busy kissing her. He was happy doing that for all the nanometers and attoseconds in the world.

Wait a minute. Was this part of Amy's plan? Was she studying his decision awareness before he kissed her? Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. Why did he sometimes watch her lips moving, mesmerized by them, and contemplate how to best approach them, but at other times he felt his body physically jerking at the magnetic-like force they exhorted upon his own lips?

But, no, it wouldn't do. They needed to be able to concentrate and come up with at least one solid hypothesis before he introduced self-experimentation. Best to let her know that using her sexy mind to get her way just wasn't an option.

* * *

**"** **What if the fighting is the reason we're making progress?"**

They were stuck again, now standing toe to toe, doing their best to kick their brains into action.

"I was going to point out you have lobster hands," Amy said.

"Lobster hands?" Sheldon looked down at his fingers. "Why? Are they red all the time? You know that's just a side effect from all the washing -"

"I didn't say you had _dead_ lobster hands!" she put her hands on her hips.

He looked back at her. But she had been implying they were red, correct? Because he certainly didn't have just two brown claws. But it also wasn't like Amy to be so imprecise.

"Well . . . well, I don't think that new dandruff shampoo is working. I lied," he shot back. Ugh. Now who was tossing out less than stellar insults?

"You couldn't lie if your life depended on it."

"Oh, yeah? Your shoes are ugly."

"Where do you even find three-quarter sleeve shirts for men?"

"My banana bread is better than yours."

"You _are_ bananas!"

"Well, _you're_ nuts and everyone knows the best banana bread doesn't haven't any."

"You're rubber and I'm glue, and everything you say bounces off of me and sticks to you!"

The next thing he knew, he was burying his hands in her hair, pulling her ever closer, and kissing her with all the hormones his flight or fight response could muster. And Amy - feisty, sexy, intelligent Amy - wasn't fighting or flighting, either.

* * *

**"** **Physicist, baker, lover, what can't I do?"**

Coitus and baking were not as dissimilar as one might think. You had to have the right ingredients in the correct ratios, mix them with care, caress the raw product gently until it was ready to heat, letting the warmth travel from the surface to the core, and then a variety of changes occurred, many of which could not happen outside of the process. In baking, starches solidified, liquids evaporated, and enzymes were denatured.

In coitus, love was solidified, aversions evaporated, and, it seemed, that sometime's one very nature . . . both changed and did not?

During the day, caught up in the cycle of his love for Amy, the time spent by her side, sharing his days with her, turning over new possibilities for proposals, Sheldon felt invincible. What couldn't he do with Amy's love to support him? Amy had changed the molecular structure of his life with her gentle heat.

But at night, sometimes, when she was asleep, even the sound of her snores couldn't turn off the thoughts in his mind. Sheldon thought back to that week before her birthday, and then the day itself, how much he had craved her, like a starving man and she was the only substance to be had. And then they had shared a physical meal so beautiful and so satisfying that all hunger had dissipated, back to where it had been for the first thirty-six years of his life. He wanted to feel that hunger again, not for his own needs, but rather for hers. He wanted to want her in that way, physically, the way she wanted him. He wanted to figure out who and what he was sexually, for her.

If only he could.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Besides being a generally fantastic person with impeccable taste, my wonderful beta, Melissa, gets credit for the limerick above, when both my husband and I were stumped.** _

_**And, as always, thank you in advance for your reviews!** _

 


	17. Chapter 17

" **To wake up every morning and know you're there is a great comfort to me."**

The alarm clock was on Amy' side of the bed, as it had been her previous alarm clock. Sheldon didn't mind as he so rarely found the need for it. Every morning, it went off precisely on time, playing something from Amy's iTunes, and, if they weren't already, his eyelids fluttered open easily.

He used to hop immediately out of bed and do a brief series of stretches before he began his morning ablutions. Now, he watched Amy fight to remain asleep, coaxing her gently to conscious with a gentle hand upon her somewhere, letting her know that, even if she had to face the day against her will, at least she wouldn't have to do it alone.

They never discussed it, but he liked to think she found this just as comforting as he did.

* * *

**"** **I was offered a summer research fellowship at Princeton."**

Summer. He hated it. Why was summer always separating he and Amy, as though they lived in some weird world with a strange nine-month long calendar?

Could he survive three months without her, with Amy on the other side of the country? Yes, he'd survived alone when Leonard went to the Arctic, but that was different. Sheldon didn't love Leonard the way he loved Amy. It didn't feel cozy to wake up next to Leonard, and there certainly wasn't the peace knowing that Leonard was going to accept him exactly for who he was.

And Sheldon was going to propose. He didn't have a firm plan yet, but he'd promised himself he'd do it this summer. He'd waited too long. No, he wasn't the perfect man Amy deserved yet, and he still struggled with many of the things on her list. But he tried every day for her, and he was starting to think maybe that was enough.

* * *

**"** **You have to take it. It's important."  
** **"** **So are you."**

The knock on the door was hesitant. "Sheldon, are you really in the bathroom?"

"No." He rolled over to face the door as Amy opened it.

"Are you okay?" she asked, approaching the bed. "I don't have to go if it's going to upset you this much. I haven't said yes yet. We're a couple now, and we should decide together."

Sheldon nodded and pulled himself upright. Amy took that as a sign to sit on the bed. Why were so many of their important conversations in bed now? There was probably some symbolism there he was missing, if he believed in something made up by a humanities teacher. "You're right. But I meant it; you have to take it. It's a fantastic professional opportunity for you. And if anyone understands the value of a career in science, it's me."

"Thank you for saying that, but it would sound better if you weren't grumbling."

"Okay, fine. I don't want you to go. Is that what you want me to say? But it doesn't matter what I think, really. Even I know that. You shouldn't have to choose between me and your career." He heard his voice rising, and he knew he should modulate it, but it hurt too much. "You may be my current mistress, but, don't you worry, Lady Physics comes first. So go make love to Lord Biology if you want! I'm sure he'll give you coitus every night."

"Sheldon, calm down. You're confusing unrelated issues. We don't have to talk about this right now. I know you're upset about the military project, too. We can talk later, when you're calmer -"

"Why does everyone always accuse me of not being calm?" Sheldon stood and walked out the door.

"Sheldon, that's not -"

But he was already on the stairs, leaving.

* * *

**"** **Instead of dwelling on the negative, think about this. Your girlfriend was given an amazing opportunity, which gives you an opportunity to show her that you're a loving and supportive boyfriend."**

"Perhaps you're right," Sheldon said, after Leonard had finished with his little speech. "I do like any chance to prove that I'm better than everybody else at something."

"See," Leonard nudged his shoulder, "I knew you'd find the silver lining."

Then his friend stood and looked down, "See ya later?"

Sheldon nodded and looked around the empty apartment after he left. Leonard was correct. There was no reason a career and a relationship as strong as the one he and Amy shared could not coexist in harmony. She'd already sacrificed so much for him; this was one little sacrifice he could make for her.

Something about this apartment made him want to reminisce. First, about apartment 4A, the first time he'd seen it, empty like this, and then how surprisingly easy it had been to leave it in the end. He knew it was only easy because it was Amy waiting on the other side of the hallway for him. If anything else had tried to force him to leave, he would have fought, clawing the floor as they dragged him out by his ankles.

But now he knew he would be fine. He was a grown man, he shouldn't need to be dependent on anyone else, no matter how helpful and kind and beautiful she was. Sheldon would use this as his own opportunity, too, to prove how much he'd grown for her, how much he'd changed. Then, when she returned to find him unscathed, he'd propose.

First, though, before she left, he had to make it up to her. Maybe he should buy her a gift, something she'd need for her trip, to illustrate how supportive he was being. He owed Amy an apology for the way he'd acted and stormed out like that. That was not the behavior of a mature, unselfish future-husband.

"Husband. Huh," he mumbled into the soundless space. It was the first time he'd ever thought of himself in that term. He, Sheldon Lee Cooper, genius and ninety-nine percent asexual, was going to have a wife. It's not at all where he saw himself years ago. All he wanted then was to dedicate his entire life to science, to his quest for the Nobel Prize. And not just one either; he planned to rack them up until his death.

But Amy had changed all that. And he would prove he had changed for her. Sheldon got up and left the empty apartment.

* * *

**"** **I know it's not your birthday, but if you're interested . . ."**

There was so much more involved in buying a suitcase than he originally thought. But it had to be the perfect suitcase: the safest, the lightest, the easiest to roll and maneuver, something unique enough to be found easily on the luggage carousel, and with the perfect arrangement of compartments. Nothing less would do.

While he was busy inspecting all the options at the luggage store, and trying to find an employee who knew the answers to all his questions, Sheldon focused on the suitcase with a single-minded intensity. After all, it wasn't just an item to carry Amy's clothes to New Jersey, it was tangible proof of his love that she would carry with her as well. But, back on the bus, the suitcase on the seat next to him, Sheldon allowed his mind to wander again.

All the sights out the window, so many places he and Amy saw every time she drove them somewhere, seemed to lend some kind of retrospective air to his melancholy. Memories bubbled to the surface in no discernible pattern, and, for once, he didn't mind as they were all such happy memories with Amy. Why had he even implied that their relationship and their work couldn't coexist in harmony? Many of their memories were in her lab or his office; or, even better, working together at home. Home. Another harmonious place, even if they weren't collaborating on science.

Everything with Amy was harmonious and fluid. Even coitus. Reminiscing being fraught with serendipity, Sheldon's thoughts turned to those two nights, too. The first, hesitant and shy and far from perfect but . . . was there even a word for that? Although he had no plans to ever test his theory, Sheldon knew sexual intercourse could not have more inspiring or . . . completing with any other person.

And then the second time: something to be desired, which he had not expected. It had been an absolute giving over of himself to Amy, not holding a single thing back. He relished - _relished_ \- the sensations, every little sound and motion and scent that came from her.

Most of all, he relished the emotions. Amy's joy, not just in the act, but at how he abandoned himself to the experience. Her face at every step in the process, all that love. So much love. It was in her eyes and her smile, such interconnectedness between them writ upon her face.

Then something strange started to happen on the ride home: Sheldon discovered he wanted to see her love and experience that level of harmony again. He wanted to see her naked, the forms of her body, the feel of her skin. He imagined - with an uncomfortable shift in his seat - touching her, and he curled his fingers in anticipation of the way her face would look when he did. He could feel it there, spongy and swollen, and he imagined making some circles upon it and -

Oh Lordy.

Sheldon picked up the suitcase and hugged it over his lap. What was happening? He was aroused. He desired her. Desperately. He wanted to make to love to Amy. Today, not on her next birthday. If she was going to leave him, he wanted her to know how much he loved her, to give her an extra special memory to take with her. Mostly, though, he wanted to lose himself inside of her.

* * *

**"** **Let's go to the bedroom, remove our clothes, fold them neatly, and engage in frenzied lovemaking."**

Somehow it never occurred to him that frenzied would mean Amy launching her naked body at him even before his socks were folded. But when Sheldon dropped them in surprise, they landed together and he decided that was sufficient.

They walked backward to the bed, his lips locked firmly with hers, his hands running through her hair. Just as he flopped backward upon it, Sheldon also had to throw his head back and suck in his lips as Amy's hands surprised him on his manhood. "Amy!"

"Too much? Too soon?" She asked, removing her hand and crawling over him on the bed.

"No, just . . Oh, wow." He'd seen Amy naked before, of course, but never like this: straddling him, standing on her knees, her nipples erect, rising above him like a goddess. She was so beautiful, all curves and power.

Almost frightened of how majestic she was, Sheldon reached out to run his fingertips down the arcs her body, from her breast, over her stomach, through her pubic hair, and down her inner thighs. Amy shivered and closed her eyes.

Then she leaned forward and he thought she was going to kiss him, but instead she sucked gently on his lower lip. The change had aligned her genitals with his, and he almost couldn't withstand the feel of her, rubbing herself over his most sensitive organ. Sheldon was so grateful she resumed a new form of birth control not long after her birthday.

"I want to be on top," she whispered in his ear.

"Wait! I need to make you orgasm first!" Sheldon protested, even as she pulled back to sit upright again.

Amy shook her head. "I have an idea. Shall I?"

Gulp. "Alright."

She was more skilled at aligning them properly than he was, and she held him still and easily slid down, farther and faster that he'd ever tried with her, and it was like being engulfed whole. "Ohhhhh!" he moaned.

First she tried rotating slowly and then she tried to shift back and forth. Previously, when they'd been intimate, the arrangement of things had led to him only watching her face, which he'd enjoyed immensely and wanted to concentrate upon, but now Sheldon could watch the entire upper half of her body, especially the way her breasts swayed.

All was mostly silent, other than their breath, as they watched each other, Sheldon not embarrassed that his eyes were roving, because he saw that hers were, too. She raked her fingernails down and back up his chest, and then she started to circle one his nipples. Surprised, Sheldon make a grunt of pleasure.

Then, suddenly, she stopped moving. "Will you help me?"

"Help you what, exactly? I'm not what you'd call an expert at this."

Amy smiled. "Will you - if you put your hand down there, I think I'd have more friction."

Sheldon nodded like a fool. "Of course, of course." This was exactly what he'd been wanting for at least the last half of his bus ride. Amy lifted slightly so that he was able to wedge his hand between them, palm facing up. He curled his fingertips until he knew he was in the right spot because Amy moaned.

The movement started again, Sheldon tried to move his finger to keep up with her but eventually stopped as Amy seemed entirely in control of the situation. Her breath was coming in little gasps now, and she couldn't seem to keep her eyes open. Oh, how he wanted to touch her there! It made so little sense, as it felt like nothing more than a slick little nub - too little, really, to remain in constant contact with it as her moved around like that, but he tried his best to give her something to press against. Nonetheless, its smooth motion back and forth over his fingertip was exciting if not exactly in the position he imagined it. He was touching Amy's most prized physical spot; she had an organ devoted entirely to her physical pleasure and she shared it with him, only him. It only served to amplify to way her vagina moved around him, up and down, back and forth, up and down, back and forth . . . so much more variation than when he had been in control.

She tilted back, tossing her hair behind her, and her nipples arose, pinkened and erect. Then, with Sheldon watching, she closed her eyes and reached up to cup her own breast, her thumb tweaking with her nipple. Overcome and inspired by the sight and the feel of her, he couldn't help but exclaim, "Oh, Amy, you naughty vixen!" He didn't realize he'd yelled it until the words rang in the room, and yet he didn't care. Instantly, he knew that sight would replace all previous imagery during his monthly ritual.

"My goodness, that form of stimulation is highly efficient!" Her voice had started strong, but, by the end, she was gasping, barely able to udder the words.

"Whoopee!" he yelled again just before he felt something he never imagined he'd feel this way: Amy's body clenching around him with several soft contractions as she orgasmed, her mouth forming a perfect O above him as she cried out. No longer endure the physical stimulation, as well as her beauty and her pleasure in equal measures, he released himself with a deep moan just before Amy collapsed against his chest.

They were still connected, pulsing along with their rapid heartbeats, and he wished that they could stay that way for a good while longer even as he knew his biology would not allow it. His biology was always letting him down when he wanted something.

Sheldon wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, and kissed her head and then he whispered, "I love you. And that was . . ." Apparently his vocabulary was failing him just as biology was. He could never find the right word.

"Fantastic," Amy finished for him, still a little breathless.

He smiled. "Yes. Yes, it most certainly was. I loved feeling your orgasm from the inside."

Amy dropped a tiny kiss on his chest. "Thank you, Sheldon."

"You're welcome. But it wasn't entirely for you."

She lifted her head slightly, and Sheldon dipped his chin to see her. "You - you wanted to make love with me?"

"Of course I did. It was my idea."

"But I - I thought . . ."

Sheldon gently laid her head back on his chest. "I know. But, yes, I wanted to be sexually intimate with you. Not just because I love you or I'm going to miss you - although that's true - but because . . ." He licked his lips. "I wanted you. Physically. Sexually. Apparently it is possible to desire your girlfriend's clitoris in the middle of the day."

"Well, that's . . . very specific."

"It was a specific fantasy."

"Can I ask?" was all she said softly into his chest.

"You can. But I cannot explain it other than to tell you I desired you just as much today as I did on your last birthday - maybe even more - and it's not even time for my annual Pon farr."

"When did it start?"

"Well, if you recall, I was feeling a bit maudlin about your leaving, and I was so distracted that I accidentally wondered into an apartment downstairs, thinking it was Leonard's. But it's empty. Anyway, I allowed myself to give into memories, and there you were in all of them. Then, I started thinking about you and our relationship again on the bus. And we were so in sync with each other that I started wanting to be congruous in every way I could." He paused. "I don't know what it means. I don't know what happens next." At just that moment, his penis had lost too much rigidity and it slipped from Amy, and he winced slightly at the loss of contact. "Except we go our separate ways for the next three months."

Amy shifted off of Sheldon so that she was sitting alongside him, and she reached down to touch his cheek. "Will you be okay without me?"

Sheldon laid his hand over hers. "Yes. I won't be happy, but I'll be okay. Leonard and Penny are just across the hall."

She nodded. "What if - what if it happens again? If you - want me?"

"I suppose I'll just wait for you to return. I know you've waited far more than three months for physical intimacy before." He paused. "Amy, I don't know if it will happen again because I'm not quite clear why it happened today. I don't think you should . . . get your hopes up."

"So, it was an anomaly?" Amy whispered.

Sheldon closed his eyes, the word a knife. "Maybe. Only time will tell. It's the first time it's ever happened to me."

"Open your eyes."

He did, and she had lowered her face close his. "It's okay if it was. I mean, obviously, it's okay if it wasn't, too. But . . . I don't want you to worry about this or what I'm hoping. Let's just take it as the unexpected gift that it was."

"Alright." He took a deep breath. Except that Amy was always hoping. "Probably nothing out of the norm will happen at all while you're gone. And that's the ideal situation, correct? Nothing at all for either one of us to worry about."

Amy smiled. "Yes, a perfectly boring summer. Shower?"

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	18. Chapter 18

**"** **If you find yourself working with a male scientist who's as smart as me, as tall as me, and has hair like Thor, well, then I want you to step away from the situation and call me immediately."**

It wasn't that he didn't trust Amy. Sheldon genuinely had no concerns that she was going to New Jersey to cheat on him. And not just because Leonard was the type of stock that state produced. But Amy was so undeniably intelligent and attractive, what if some Norse scientist spotted her in that lingerie called a lab coat and tried to pursue her? Sheldon couldn't really blame this fictional god of physics.

Amy liked a good challenge. It was one of the things that kept her in their relationship, after all: the years of the hunt. But now that she'd already caught her pray, hit him over the head with her club of wiles, and dragged him across the hall to this cave-like apartment . . .?

No, of course not. Not even if this hammer-of-science wielding man offered her nightly coitus, including all sorts of Asgardian positions unknown to humankind, rocking her with the power of thunder. Why did it even cross his mind? Amy would never do that. Amy loved Sheldon with his . . . ninety-nine percent asexuality and all. But what if this god of a man with thighs like oak trees just leaned in too close, spoke too seductively, brushed her hand not by accident or even - Sheldon gulped - tried to kiss her against her will?

He shook his head. No. This was not a superhero telenovela, even one that he'd eagerly watch on the big screen. It was only suited for some angsty romance movie, so why did he waste even one unwanted second on such an irrational fear? Scientists were professionals. If a scientist wanted to pursue a fellow scientist, he would use tactics like intellectual conversations and words games and mushroom logs. Nothing cloak and hammer about it; all involved parties would see the romance for what it was.

Just in case, he warned her. And then promptly put another thought about nefarious lover-stealing scientists from his mind.

* * *

**"** **Vigorously?"  
** **"** **That's the only kind of admonishing I do."**

He really, really missed her. Flirting was so much more fun in person. Always a master, now he excelled at it. He could pick up on Amy's little clues that she was flirting with him, and he could flirt back. He found ever more clever ways to initiate it, too. He especially missed later in the day, when they were both busy at their owns task, and he'd hear the tiniest of chuckles from her. When he looked over, she seemed oblivious she was even doing it, but her eyes were dancing again. The echo of the flirtation was the best part.

It wasn't just flirting. The apartment was too quiet without her, and he missed the strangest things. That thing she did that drove him crazy, when she crunched her cereal too loud and then her jaw started to pop from her mild case of TMJ? Now he thought about asking her to record it for him to play at breakfast. The way she hung her damp bath towel over the shower rod to dry instead of the towel bar, claiming that it would dry faster and more thoroughly if it weren't folded next to his? Now the shower curtain looked just as bleak without it as he felt.

* * *

**"** **That doesn't make any sense. She knows I have a girlfriend."**

Penny was speaking English and her words were assembled in a generally grammatical structure. And yet Sheldon couldn't understand a thing she was saying. It just didn't make any sense.

Why would Ramona have a romantic interest in someone that she knew she couldn't have? Because he wasn't available. Why would someone waste their time and their energy on the unobtainable with that knowledge at their disposal? No, Ramona was just being kind. She knew his hours were long without Amy, and she was trying to fill them. Her distraction wasn't working, of course, but it was the thought that counted.

Penny was confused. Or seeing things that weren't there. She was Amy's best friend, so perhaps she was just being overprotective. Or maybe the previously revolving door of men in her life had made her think that everyone else would just jump from one partner to another at the first opportunity that presented itself.

Well, not Sheldon Cooper. He was taking the Amy Farrah Fowler ride to the very end.

* * *

**"** **Amy's already taken me out of my package and played with me."**

He hadn't slept well since Amy left, but their before-bed FaceTime chats that he enjoyed with a mug of SleepyTime tea had at least kept true insomnia at bay. But not that night. After lying awake, first singing Soft Kitty to himself and then counting hundreds of Supermans leaping tall buildings in a single bound, Sheldon got up to drink a glass of warm milk. Still feeling restless, he ended up pacing the living room instead.

Normally loathe to admit anyone else could be correct, he had to concede that Penny had, against all odds, proven herself to be just that on more than one previous occasion, especially when it concerned illogical things like emotions and relationships.

Sheldon couldn't decide what to do because he couldn't decide how to feel. Part of him wondered if he should even be worried about this. If Ramona had a crush on him, that was not his doing or his problem. He was one handsome guy. He wasn't going to hide or disfigure himself. If he ignored it and only interacted with her professionally and platonically, then surely she would do the same and lose interest.

But that didn't stop him from being worried. What if Amy somehow heard about this? Who was he kidding? Amy already had. There was no doubt Penny had aired her suspicions to his girlfriend as soon as she had them. Maybe that explained Amy's weird demeanor on the earlier call . . .

Sheldon didn't feel guilty that Amy knew because he had nothing to feel guilty about. But he didn't want Amy hurt. Or angry. Or confused. He doubted that she suspected him of any unethical behavior. Surely she knew that if he couldn't find a way to sexually desire her as often as they both would like after all these years, after all the love he developed and displayed for her, that there was no way he was going to sexually desire anyone else.

But still . . . he remembered the way it felt when he thought, even for the briefest period of time, that Amy could have slept with another man while they were apart. Even now, in the center of their shared home, the force of that pain stopped Sheldon cold in his tracks, and he bent over slightly to touch his chest. He never, ever wanted Amy to feel like that, even if it was because of some misguided confusion.

It was the pain that brought him to a decision. He would just have to ask Ramona about this the next time he saw her. It was best to be honest and clear the air. Most likely, she'd deny what Penny said. Still, he'd be calm and polite but direct with her, and he'd even break their association as much as possible. He would remind her that fraternization within the same department was frowned upon and that he had a girlfriend. If pressed, he'd even tell her that he was mostly asexual. Maybe he'd even leave out the word mostly. Surely that would be enough to dissuade any interest Ramona might have in him. If she persisted or if she questioned how he could be asexual and in a relationship, he would take the oppurtunity to explain that it had taken a love with a patience and strength far greater than anything he studied professionally to bring him to a physical relationship. And not out of force or coercion or whatever sneaky treachery she might be up to.

Rather, he'd made love to Amy with equal force.

* * *

**"** **Well, that would raise a number of problems. We're colleagues. I'm currently in a relation-"**

No. No! NO!

Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he push her away? Her lips hurt his lips. His lips were only meant for Amy. Her actions hurt his heart. His heart hurt. Why was she still touching him in Amy's way? Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't this nightmare end?

Then, suddenly, it did.

"Excuse me."

Sheldon felt so weak and confused he didn't even trust himself to run, even as he felt cough-drop tinged bile rising up the back of his throat. Still, he walked to the bathroom, to his favorite stall, and bent over the toilet. Nothing came up.

If this is what casual sexual encounters felt like, he wanted no part of them. How dare she? He was Amy's! His lips, his body, everything! They were Amy's! He felt violated. No one, no one!, should ever touch his lips like that other than Amy. It was grotesque to consider someone else doing it and nauseating to experience it. He felt stupid, and, being such a singular experience, he wanted no part of that, either. But it was true. How could he have been such a fool, how could he have missed the signs that even Penny could see? How could he have allowed this happen? How could he have sat there without moving?

Suddenly a sob escaped and Sheldon sat back on the floor, covering his face with his hands. He felt ashamed. Amy. Amy who loved him exactly as he was, who had shown him that being asexual didn't have to mean being alone. She didn't deserve this. She deserved the stars and the moon and sun and string theory and dark matter and the spaces between electrons and every quiver of his heart.

What did he have to give her now? His tainted body? His foolish mind? His imperfect heart? His sexual minority?

He raised his head, sniffing and gathering himself. That's exactly what he'd give her. Because that's what she accepted with only love. And he was done - done! - waiting to tell her just how much he loved her.

* * *

**"** **Amy . . . Amy . . . Amy . . . Will you marry me?"**

Eight years ago, it had all started with a simple question. "May I buy you a beverage?"

Kneeling at her door, the spaces between his knocks as long as eternity, Sheldon remembered how that question had welled up from inside himself of its own volition, even if it was against his original plan when he went to that coffee shop. Never once, even in his darkest hour, had he regretted it.

Here he was again, a changed man. Older, wiser, sexually active. Happier. This had been his plan for years even if it had not morphed into this exact shape until a few hours ago. And yet, some things were the same. The question still welled up from inside himself, from that previously unlocked space that had been waiting for Amy all along.

It, too, was a simple question. He looked up at her, offering her a beverage every day for the rest of their lives. All that was required was a yes or a no. The next word she spoke would make all the difference to him, in ways he could not imagine. A single syllable from her lips would define his future, just as it had eight years ago.

* * *

**"** **And in that moment, I realized that Amy was the only woman I ever wanted to kiss for the rest of my life."**

So great was the quantity and so conflicting in nature the expanse of thoughts and emotions that followed Ramona's kiss, that Sheldon had neglected to pack a bag. Rather, he'd focused on the optimistic: booking a flight, polishing the ring, discussing the situation with both Stephen Hawking and Amy's father (who was, fortunately, home alone at the time Sheldon called). He only thought forward so far, to the moment he would ask and Amy would answer, and he only allowed his brain to dwell in that moment. Otherwise, his system would once again be overtaken by the revulsion that had been Ramona's lips unwelcome upon his.

While all of that mental focus had succeeded in keeping his breakfast and everything else he ate firmly in the latter half of his alimentary tract, he had not considered a clean set of pajamas. His newly minted fiancée failed to see the necessity of the pajamas, either, and she repeatedly deferred his requests to immediately go shopping at some 24-hour store. Her last "I told you that we'll go first thing in the morning, Sheldon. Just sleep in your underwear tonight" had taken on a sharp edge that he knew well, and, not wanting to spoil the momentous evening, he'd sighed deeply and let it go.

He was trying to relax, almost-naked and in Amy's strange bed, when Amy came to join him. His eyebrows went up when he realized she was wearing the short pink nightgown that she'd wore the first night they made love. Suddenly, it occurred to him that perhaps she expected them to make love tonight, that she presumed such an act would be a continuation of the affiance ritual. Was this a societal norm of which he was unaware?

"You're wearing your short nightgown," he pointed out as she got under the blankets with him.

"I know," she answered, reaching over to turn off the light. "I packed it because I wasn't sure how the climate controls would work here."

"Oh. That makes sense. Very practical."

After a noncommittal sound from her, Sheldon reached for her hand under the covers, momentarily surprised but then delighted by how the sharp edges of her engagement ring changed the shapes he knew so well. "Well, since it's so late, I guess we better get started."

"What?"

"Because you - you're hoping we'll have coitus tonight." She was always hoping; continuously, on every occasion, without exception.

Amy rolled and lifted her head on her elbow, and he looked over at her face, dim but visible in the light streaming between the blinds. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, it's probably the romantic thing to do. Why else would you wear such sexy lingerie?"

Her eyebrows dipped slightly. "Sheldon, I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest. Are you saying that _you_ want to make love?"

He took a deep breath. "Honestly? I hadn't considered it. I'm not . . . It hadn't occurred to me." What was wrong with him? Shouldn't the promise of a future marriage make him want Amy in the carnal fashion more than picking out a suitcase? He licked his lips. "But we can, if you want."

Although she didn't immediately answer, Sheldon watched the splay of her various potential responses cross her face, each separated by Amy's unsuccessful efforts to keep her expression neutral. He imagined that she wanted to. Now that she'd experienced non-birthday sex, she was probably hoping for it again. But she was also trying to hold to her promise not to pressure him. Finally, she asked, "When you say you hadn't considered it, does that mean you hadn't planned ahead for it?"

"Yes. But I am willing to give spontaneity a try, if you don't mind it being a little slap-dash."

Another play of thoughts in shadow, then Amy replied, "Do you always plan ahead, the actual moves?"

He nodded against the pillow and rolled so that his neck was straight. "I try, although you have the habit of upending everything. Like last time!" He shook his head softly at the memory. "But, yes, I had planned for that, too, albeit briefly while returning from the luggage store. Or at least I planned for something I wanted to occur."

"Is it because you need to get your courage up?"

Sheldon considered this. "The first time, yes. The first two times I also masturbated in the shower prior to the event in an attempt to lengthen my performance." Amy's eyebrows went up slightly. "But it doesn't frighten me now that I know what to expect. As I've mentioned, I find I enjoy looking forward to it, once I put my mind to it."

"So, you decide when to think about it, based on a future scheduled interaction?" she asked, and Sheldon felt the barb of the question.

"Well, yes. But," he added hastily, "before you left, when I was just thinking about how much I love you and how much I love being with you, I just sort of slipped into it. It seemed liked a natural extension of my emotions."

"What exactly do you think about sex? When you prepare?" This question was softer, and Sheldon recognized it for the gentle prod that it was.

"First, I think about little things, like holding your hand. I focus on you - the physical you - and then I remember your previous reactions when I touched your body. I contemplate if those reactions will vary, I recall my favorite moments of past couplings, I close my eyes and relive your scents, your sounds, the ways parts of you feel . . ." Only when his eyes snapped open, did he realize he'd shut them. He looked nervously at Amy. "Once I'm in that frame of mind, you could even say that I become a bit lustful."

"Lustful?" Amy asked with an exhale, her pink tongue darting over her lips in the dark, the sheen of saliva catching the light.

Hoping that he was firmly in shadow so that Amy didn't see him blush, he explained, "Apparently it's not just your intelligence and wit that get my motor running."

Amy smiled at him, and she started to lean forward but then she backed away at the last second to stifle a yawn. "I'm sorry. You're right; it is very late." She studied him a moment and then asked, "You really mean you never want to kiss anyone else again, not in your entire life?"

"Of course I don't!" Sheldon pulled his head back in outrage at the question. What had prompted her to ask that? Was his declaration of love, was his promise of marriage not enough for her? Or was this somehow tied up in everything he'd just told her? Or, he gulped, because he was missing that desire tonight? "I never want to go through my pre-coitus rituals for anyone else, either."

She reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing it tight. "I know. I meant . . . do you know what I really want tonight? What I wanted from the moment you showed up at my door? Even more than coitus or sleeping next to you again?"

"No. What?"

"Kiss me the way you want to kiss me for the rest of my life. So that even when you're rushing out the door in the morning and neither of us have time for more than a peck on the cheek, I'll remember this kiss as the perfect kiss, and I'll know it's the kiss you really mean."

Sheldon studied her face for a moment, now a constant glow of love, and he knew that her request was genuine. She had never intended to ask him to make love tonight, and, even if she probably would have accepted if he'd offered another instance of his own desire, this was what she craved from him tonight. He may have done an admirable job of soothing her understandable concerns about the kiss from Ramona earlier, but this kiss, a kiss of strength and the purity of love he felt for her, would wipe it permanently from her mind. And his.

Pulling his hand out from under hers, he reached up and brushed her hair away from her face, then traced the curve of her jaw back toward her chin.

"I love you, Amy Farrah Fowler. Only you. For the rest of my life."

He leaned forward and grazed his lips against the very center of hers, barely touching them. He would approach this kiss the way he loved her, a physical demonstration of all the ways he'd come to this moment.

First, a meeting, the soft flutter of things to come. He kissed along her upper lip, first one direction, then the other, each kiss barely present, almost a secret he could not bear to utter. He repeated this slow dance along her bottom lip, discovering her slowly, mapping the outer shells she presented to the world, although he felt the give and spring of the true Amy beneath.

Only once he knew every contour and tiny wrinkle of her, did he make his way back to center, a quick and firm press there, something that surprised them both. He lingered until she softened next to him, no longer surprised by how good this kiss felt, as she welcomed its habitualness.

When it became too much, the steadiness both reassuring and frightening, he trailed his lips down her chin, along her windpipe to her clavicle. He was leaving her to remember her, so that he could find her again. There, in the divot at the base of her throat, he allowed his tongue to flick her skin for the first time and she gasped. A brisk example of when he knew. He followed the same path back to her, faster, eager, desperate to return to her, to let her know what he'd discovered.

There, he murmured against her mouth, a sacrament of what was to come and had already come, "I love you," letting the words hum and buzz between them before he pulled her closer, pressing firmly. Amy wrapped her arms around him, too, and tentatively he allowed his tongue to dart against her. She exhaled beneath him, the relief of a wait ended, and her mouth opened, granting him access.

Here, too, he took his time, searching and smoothing, finding remembered spaces as though they were new. Then, quickly, he pulled away, and she looked up at him in alarm. She made a move to speak, but Sheldon lowered a finger over her lips, shaking his head softly. The studied each other for a moment, like that, her eyes aching. He let time and darkness hang between, a bittersweet memory, a scar usually hidden.

Perhaps she understood, perhaps she did not, but he waited until he saw her eyes shift to something like trust. Only then did he release his finger and he whispered, "I'll never stop loving you."

It was a crash more than a kiss, a frantic, sloppy, beautiful thing, as he allowed her to take him back in so completely, as he released everything that he was into her, doing what he knew she liked, capturing and sucking on her bottom lip as she gasped for air and then with pleasure. A long, low moan started somewhere in the back of her throat, a sound of yearning at last set free.

Once more, he returned to the center, pressing and shifting and drinking in a pattern they both knew well, one Amy fell easily into, a routine not boring but perfected. There was a micro-movement he would make and a tiny response from her mouth, a dance choreographed with time and ease and peace. It was faultless and ripe but not mature or finished; there were years to alter it and adjust it as needed, but it would forever remain the melody to whatever harmony they shared at that time.

At the very last, he kissed her quickly on the cheek, a mere peck for a hurried future morning, to let her know that that brief kiss would forever be the shorthand for all that came before.

Sheldon looked down at his betrothed as Amy struggled to catch her breath. "Wow," she managed to exhale.

Grinning, he rolled onto his back, pulling her close as she tucked her nose into the crook of his neck. He rubbed her shoulder and enjoyed the little puffs of calming air on his skin.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Hopefully, that put she-who-shall-not-be-named from your mind permanently, too. Let us not speak of her again._ **

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	19. Chapter 19

**"** **Yeah, no more stories about sex, so, Amy, that brings us to you."**

"What's all this?" Amy asked as she opened the door, setting down some shopping bags and lifting her purse off her shoulder.

Sheldon turned from his whiteboard with a smile. "You'll be pleased to know I finally solved a particularly frustrating quandary of mine." He spread his arms wide to encompass the multiple boards, two piles on the table containing sheaves of paper, and his open laptop.

"Okay, but what is it?"

"I decided that it was time for me develop a definitive, simple way to describe my current sexuality. You know I like concrete concepts."

Amy's brows went up. "Because of the last time we were intimate? When you initiated it?"

"Exactly. Come look."' He capped his marker and returned it to the tray. "As I've mentioned to you, I believe that even one instance of sexual desire means that I'm not technically asexual. At least not anymore."

Amy nodded as she studied the Venn diagram he'd worked on for a long time, meticulously making sure the ratios of each of the intersecting circles were correct. "You've put a lot of work into this." She turned back with a curious smile. "Your conclusion?

"I'm a graysexual demisexual," he pointed to the center of the graph, where he'd drawn a star. "See, so much easier to say as it explains everything."

"Sheldon, that's wonderful." Amy reached out and wrapped an arm around him. "I know how much this . . . confused you. Can you - will you explain it to me? I mean, sexuality is very personal and you know it's always important to me what you think and feel about it. I want to see it from your point of view."

Sheldon doubted she needed his explanation as Amy was a biologist, and an outstanding one at that. But she had a history of asking probing questions about his sexuality. Rather than making him feel uncomfortable, he always welcomed her interest. Her lack of assumptions was noticed and appreciated. It was a relief to have someone nonjudgmental to share it with, even the things he wasn't sure about. If fact, she often asked questions that gave him additional points to consider or others that helped to crystallize his thought process. Now he thought, maybe, that hearing the definitions in his own words helped her accept them just as he did. Just as she accepted him.

"Of course. I want to tell you about it," he replied. "You agree that an asexual person has no innate sex drive, no desire to find a sexual partner and to engage in coitus?"

"Agreed. And, when we met, that was how you felt."

He nodded in affirmation. "From my research, the consensus is that a graysexual person is someone who has a much lower than average sex drive, but not that it's completely absent." He pointed to another board. "Graysexual is related to the quantity of the sex drive, but not to the numbers or types of potential sexual partners."

"And this is because you initiated coitus before I left for Princeton?" Amy asked. "You feel this serves as proof you know longer have zero sex drive?"

"Yes. Although Pon farr may have been a sign, in retrospect." He glanced over at her and saw that she was studying his markings with a serious face. "Whereas demisexual -" Sheldon pointed to another graph "- means the numbers of and relationship to potential sexual partners. It means that a sex drive does not become apparent until there is a lengthy, very powerful non-sexual connection first. Because the bond would have to be so unique and strong, ergo there is likely to only be very few sexual partners - maybe only one - in one's life."

"So," Amy put a finger to her lip, "in this interpretation a graysexual could have coitus with a new partner every year, even ones they weren't intelligently or emotionally bonded with first, but maybe only desire that coitus once a year?"

"Yes."

"But a demisexual, once they formed this very special non-sexual relationship and then started to feel a sexual drive for their partner, may, in fact, be willing to have coitus on a more, let's say, average schedule?"

"Correct."

"But you, having both a lower than average sex drive and only one partner that ever made you feel even that much -"

"That's you!"

"- consider yourself an amalgamation of the two?" Now she pointed at the star in the middle of the Venn circles.

"Precisely! Isn't it perfect?" Sheldon spun around to look at her. "Now I know, now you know, and now it's clear to everyone."

"It is." Her lips smiled warmly at him, but something else was in her eyes. "Sometimes I wondered if it still bothered you, because you don't mention it that much, but other times I wondered if you seemed . . . I don't know . . . melancholy? . . . when you looked at me. This has got to be a weight off your mind." The smile spread to her eyes as she stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Congratulations."

"I didn't tell you the best part!"

"Oh?" She stood back on her heels.

"Greysexual -" he pointed to that diagram again "- is defined as 'less than average.' But there's not really a single quantifying amount. You said 'once a year' earlier, which makes sense because it's our arrangement, but, in truth, there's a broad spectrum of 'less than average.' This is less of a bell curve and more like a cow patty."

"Okay, sure," Amy said, her eyebrows dipping slightly.

Sheldon reached for her hand. "I can't promise anything, but this graph - and past events - make me wonder if it's possible that my desire to have coitus with you might increase as time goes on. It already has once. And there's Pon farr, every time now."

"Can I ask a question?" Amy said softly.

"Of course."

"Are you still going to call it Pon farr?" She bit her lip. "I mean, you've put all this effort into a serious, scientific exploration of the subject, it seems a bit . . . odd . . . to continue to equate your sexuality to a fictional alien condition."

"Huh." Sheldon looked over the list he'd made of demisexual traits, and the way he'd assigned each bullet point an integer based on how important he felt that point was to the overall definition. He let go of Amy's hand to step closer to the white board and look at the calculation he'd made there, using those integers and in which the A constant was Amy. "Well, Vulcans are a very scientific and logical race, so it's possible they've approached their own sexuality in just this way. But I . . . see your point. Pon farr, as we're given to understand it, is a purely physical condition, in which the chemicals in the brain become temporally imbalanced causing physical distress."

"And?" Amy prodded, her voice gentle.

He turned to look at her. "My sexual relationship with you, my sexual reactions to you, aren't purely physical. They certainly don't make me feel imbalanced or distressed. Quite the opposite, in fact." Amy smiled. "I know my desire for you is intellectual and emotionally based. I love you and I want to share that love with you, to _make_ that love with you. I never feel closer or more in love with you then when we're physically joined."

"Oh, Sheldon. I feel that way, too," Amy hushed.

"Actually this brings me back to my point. Pon farr is an inescapable cycle, every seven years like clockwork, yes?" Amy nodded. "And, well, while there are appealing factors to that, namely the use of a prime number, it's not what I want. And," he stepped closer to the graysexual graph and pointed toward it, "it's not an inescapable schedule for me. I don't want it to be. As I said, I think my sexual desire has the capacity to increase. I don't think I'll ever be one of those men who's thinking about coitus multiple times a day -"

"Do you want to be?" Amy interrupted him, surprise on her face.

"Goodness, no!" Sheldon shook his head. "I've got enough physics on my plate without all those distractions. And I'm currently devoting a portion of my mental energy to trying to figure out who Rey's real parents are before the new _Star Wars_ movie comes out. What I'm saying is, this graph makes me hopeful that I can be . . . open to the notion of thinking about coitus on purpose occasionally with the idea of possibly scheduling it more often in the undefined future."

"That's so romantic." She wrapped her arms about him, and Sheldon held her close. He kissed the top of her head.

"But can we still call it Pon farr?" Sheldon asked into her hair. "We could call it t'nash-veh Pon farr or even ashaya Pon farr, but just Pon farr has such nice ring to it. I know it means something different to us, something more, but leave it to the Vulcans to come up with a simple two-word name for such a complex concept that is also so pleasing to sensitive, pointy ears."

After a squeeze, Amy pulled away with another smile. "Yes, we can call it Pon farr. It will just be our version of it. I love you, no matter what we call it."

"I love you, too."

She patted his arm as she passed, walking toward the kitchen. Sheldon silently watched her as she started to pull dishes and food out of various cabinets and the refrigerator. Just as she was about to chop a tomato, he asked her, "What are you doing?"

"Making dinner." She looked up. "Why? Was there something else?"

"Not from me. But I just made a break-through, gave you the terms you need, and you're not calling your girlfriends to tell them?"

Still not a master of every emotion that washed across Amy's face, Sheldon felt he knew her well enough now that she was his fiancée to think she looked surprised. "I don't understand; why would I call them? If you want to tell them, you can call them. There's time before we eat."

"But you don't seem pleased. Pleased enough to share it."

Amy put the knife down, which somehow made Sheldon feel better. "That's not true. I just told you how pleased I was. I'm glad your research brought you the definition you needed. I even called it romantic."

"The definition _I_ needed," he repeated, emphasizing her pronoun. Amy said she was confused, but now he was, too. "But now we both have the label at our disposable. Don't you appreciate that?"

"I appreciate how important the words are to you." Amy exhaled deeply. "But, Sheldon, do we even need a label? We just talked about not calling the pre-coital anticipation Pon farr, for example."

"Of course we need a label, which is why we decided to keep the term Pon farr. Everything needs a label. Just ask those light switches I labeled after lunch."

"But why? They're just words, place holders for a concept. As long as you and I understand the situation, I don't see that the exact words matter."

"Just words? What if you just plucked an unlabeled bottle willy-nilly from your spice rack the next time you're making dinner? We could end up with Chinese five spice carbonara. There's a reason you didn't see that on any restaurant menu."

"That's not the same thing."

"Or maybe you think we should go back to grunting and pointing like cave men?"

"No, of course not. Let me explain." Amy took a step around the island. "I just meant the label is only for the two of us, anyway. We're the only two people in this relationship, so we're the only people who even need to know. And, since we both now know the updated status of our sex life, I don't see that sharing a change in terminology is strictly necessary. I really don't understand why you think I should rush out and announce something this personal to everyone. However, if the label makes you happy, then I'm happy for you. For us. And if you want to share it, that's your decision. But I personally don't feel the need to share it."

"But I did all this for you!" He waved again to the hours of research and work he'd put into those two words.

"For me?" Amy reached up to touch her chest. "What do you mean? I thought this was for you, because it's been on your mind. And I wholly support that, learning more about yourself. So how was it for me?"

"So you have something to tell Penny and all those other bullies when they make fun of our relationship! Nothing says this will be a real marriage forever like two well-chosen and precise scientific terms!"

Then he turned on his heel and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He paced the room four times and then slumped on the bed. What had he misjudged here? He thought Amy would be thrilled, just as pleased as he was that the doubts and uncertainties that had plagued them for years had been solved and put to rest. And she was . . . and then she wasn't. Or not in the way he thought she would be.

A gentle knock came on the door. "Sheldon? May I come in? I think we need to discuss this some more."

"I guess," Sheldon mumbled.

After she'd sat next to him on the bed, Amy took a deep breath. "I'm sorry that I wasn't more enthusiastic about sharing your break-through with others -"

"I'll say." Another mumble.

"I guess I was surprised. I loved it when I thought you did all that work for just us, so that we both knew were we stood physically in our relationship, so I was a little . . . confused that you thought we needed to announce it. It seemed very public," Amy explained. "I appreciate that you worry about what others say to me, but you do know that I love you no matter what words you attach to yourself, right? Or even what incorrect words others attach to you, because I know the truth?

"I do."

"Sheldon, does this have to do with what Penny said last night? I saw your face and then you were awfully quiet later. I don't think you slept well."

He turned to face her. "Do they do that often? Make fun of you because of me?"

"Sure, sometimes we poke at each other's men. I guess it's a form of female bonding. But it's not just you. Bernadette will say things about Leonard, and I'll make a barb about Howard. It's just a thing we do."

"Well, yeah, they're easy to make fun of."

"You're not helping your case with that statement." Then she sighed and added, "I know it doesn't mean anything. We all do. Otherwise we wouldn't have spent the day shopping and getting mani-pedis together. Yes, it's immature and probably catty, so if we were better people, we'd stop, but . . . well, you know how it is with friends."

He nodded. He, too, enjoyed making a well-timed zinger at Raj's expense. "I mean . . . do they -" Sheldon swallowed hard. "Are they always jokes about our sex life?"

"No. Sometimes they joke about your bathroom schedule or just how picky - I mean, precise - you can be." She reached for his hand. "Is that what's really worrying you?"

"I don't want everyone making fun of you because of me. Or thinking that you're marrying me out of pity. Or that our marriage is sham because - because I'm like this."

"Listen to me carefully." Amy leaned in closer and squeezed his hand, not releasing the pressure as she spoke. "I'm the only one marrying you. We are going to be the only two people in this marriage. And I have zero doubts about why I'm marrying you. As long as you and I agree on the sexual frequency in our relationship, then we're the only ones that matter; it's no one else's business. I only know one way to love you, and that's a way that makes you feel comfortable and that you're more important to me than anyone else in this world."

"I want to love you that way, too," Sheldon said. "But I think you're better at it than I am."

Amy blinked hard. Twice. "Can I grab my phone and record you saying that? Just the last sentence."

"No!" Sheldon shook his head. "I'm sorry if I put too much emphasis on how others feel. I just don't want you treated badly because of me. I want you to have a good come-back for those of lesser minds."

"I don't need a come-back. If I feel the need to say something, I'll just tell them to mind their own business. It's not my place to out your sexuality."

"Perhaps you're right." Sheldon took a deep breath and pressed against the edge of the mattress to push up.

Amy's hand stopped him. "Do the words matter to you? You said it's a quandary you've solved. I don't think you did this for our friends or entirely for me. And that's fine. I know this has been weighing on you for a while. Did you - do you - was being able to say you were asexual important to you? That label in particular?"

He looked down and studied his hands for a moment. The hands he'd always had, the hands that he knew so well, the hands that had grown in a normal way as his whole body grew and matured, hands that would age and wrinkle along with the rest of him in a predictable pattern. "I always knew what I was. It was well-defined and absolute." He paused. Hands that also made love to Amy. "And then I met you and it . . . wasn't. I mean, listen to the words I had to find to describe myself: graysexual, demisexual. Just vagaries and halfsies. I'm in a Middle Earth that isn't composed of hobbits and elves and it's not any fun at all." He looked back up. "Most of the time, I'm can't believe I'm so lucky to have some who understands this strange middle place and wants to share it with me. But, sometimes, I want to be all of something for you."

"Oh. Sheldon." Amy wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "You are all of many, _many_ things to me, and I love each one of those things. Besides, I've never really been a huge fan of hobbits and elves. This version of Middle Earth is so much better."

Sheldon reached up and patted her arm, "Well, you're not all of a Tolkien purist for me, so I guess we've both made sacrifices."

With a chuckle, his fiancée rearranged herself so that she could lean over and kiss his cheek. "I think you left a word out of your description."

"Heterosexual? I thought, since I was engaged to a woman, it seemed self-evident."

"No. Well, yes, but no. I mean sapiosexual: one who finds intelligence attractive or arousing." She said it with a gleam in her eyes and little, soft curl of her lips.

He gleamed back. "I thought that was more obvious than my heterosexuality."

"How about this? We finish making dinner together, and then, after we eat, we play of game of Counterfactuals by candlelight, then make out like the sapiosexuals we are. And afterwards we'll take a shower together and then fall asleep spooning."

"Amy Farrah Fowler, are you trying to seduce this graysexual demisexual into a romantic, sensual but non-sexual evening?"

She bit her lip as the gleam glowed brighter, and then she leaned in close; her eyes locked with his and Amy softly whispered her answer, "Na meldanya."

Sheldon's heart rate increased as he watched the play of a smile across her face. Her words had been 'Yes, my beloved' in fluent, flawless Elvish. He gulped. "You speak Elvish?"

A little coy shrug. "One thing I do admire about Tolkien is his construction and use of completely new languages."

"Gi melin," he whispered back. 'I love you.' Maybe this Middle Earth was perfect after all.

* * *

**"** **Tomorrow we'll go downtown and get married."**

It was the simplest solution. He wanted to marry Amy, Amy wanted to marry him, the ring on her finger was proof that this was their plan. Why wait, especially if it was going to involve this much disagreement? The harmony Sheldon felt with Amy was one of the greatest sources of contentment he'd ever known, and he didn't want to threaten that. And what was a wedding, anyway? Pomp and circumstance for others, to make a statement to parties that weren't integral to their union, really.

Sheldon would have gone through with a big wedding for Amy, if that's what she really wanted. Because he wanted her to be happy. But even she agreed that all this fighting wasn't worth it in the end. They wouldn't be any less married if they exchanged vows at City Hall, their marriage license wouldn't be printed on inferior paper if it was filled out there.

He and Amy were practical people, not slavish devotees to fads and rituals. The sooner they were married, the sooner they could return to their relationship of science and peace.

* * *

**"** **But when you make a discovery like this, you don't just take it down to City Hall. You tell the whole world."**

_Communicate results._

The two words from his train journey years ago came back to him as he sat in his suit, next to his beautiful bride, waiting for their name to be called. The room around them was gray and bland and . . . utilitarian. There was the buzz of business, of mundane transactions. Other citizens present wore business attire at best, denim and shorts at worst. Most of them looked bored or even unhappy to have to spend time waiting on such bureaucratic matters.

Was this what their relationships was, what their marriage would mean to them, what their love represented? Utilitarian, mundane, boring, only a necessary administrative hoop through which to jump?

No, not at all.

Here was a woman - an intelligent, thoughtful, kind, patient woman - who loved him and accepted him for who he was. Here was a woman who sacrificed a large part of what she desired because she saw other qualities in him that no one else did. And he, in turn, was so moved by her sacrifice that he found the strength to sacrifice who he thought he was, who he could be, what he could do, for her. Not because it was a necessary hurdle, but because he wanted to, he desired to, he longed to. If not the actual physical love itself, at least not often, the aspiration he truly felt to try to adjust for her daily.

Their love was about the time they spent growing toward the other person, leaning toward each other light like a tree toward the sun. Their love was about the importance of listening and understanding, and then the peace of being understood. The power of their love was in the compromise.

That was one of the discoveries she had opened his eyes to: he could adapt, he wanted to adapt . . . for her. And rather than this change being a sign of weakness, it was just the opposite; he had strengthened . . . for her.

He, a heterosexual sapiosexual graysexual demisexual outlier, had found an allosexual woman who loved him for exactly who he was, Pon farr and all. He would live outside of every bell curve if it meant living there with her. That's the result he wanted to communicate, in the most demonstrative and ceremonious way possible, to as many people as would listen.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_I mentioned it before, but it bears repeating for this chapter: the definitions I have used for various facets of human sexuality are as they are defined in_ The Invisible Orientation: An Introduction to Asexuality _by Julie Sondra Decker. However, as sexuality is perhaps the most personal of human traits, I understand that a word may not have the same definition to every person. And that's okay. If you're interested in learning more about asexual spectrum sexuality, I cannot recommend Decker's informative and approachable book highly enough._**

**_And, as always, thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	20. Chapter 20

**"** **And then after dinner we'll have birthday coitus."**

Another December. Another Pon farr. The difference was that this time Amy seemed more aware of Sheldon's growing desire because her eyes didn't shift away when he caught her seductive glances. Instead, she looked brazenly at him, the edges of her mouth turned up, her cheeks rosy. Every move she made seemed to become a form of flirtation to Sheldon in his heightened state: the way she ate her orange segments, the way she dried her legs after her shower, the way she tapped her finger against her lips when she paused in her typing. Every vaguely scientific word she uttered caused a coiling deep in his abdomen.

Was she doing it on purpose, teasing him like this? Sheldon couldn't decide. Thrice, he even opened his mouth to ask and then shut it again without a question. Somehow the implication without an outright confession seemed to be part of the game. Was it even a game? He wasn't sure about that, either. But it felt like a chess match: her move, his move, the calculations and plotting several steps ahead. Much better than Amy's actual chess playing, which was abysmal.

Regardless, Sheldon enjoyed the flirtation very much. The knowing and the not knowing both increased his anticipation for the day in question. He felt more alive, words seemed more colorful and colors smelled sweeter. She desired him and the timing was such that he desired her which made her desire him more which made him desire her more. Life in their apartment became a centrifuge: the force keeping them apart even as it accelerated, the particles of their desire rising, rising to the surface. Round and round they went, thirst begetting thirst.

Staying busy was the best option. And he had so much to do in preparation for her surprise birthday eve meal. But butter wasn't the only thing churning.

* * *

**"** **I don't know what you mean by electricity, ma'am. I am just a farmer boy living in a little house on the prairie."**

The idea for the frontier meal had struck him when Amy was so engrossed in reading _Prairie Fires_ that she almost had to be physically torn away from it.

Sheldon thought that now that they'd engaged in coitus three times, it was probably enough to establish how well grooved they were. Not that he believed this special form of bonding wasn't gift enough for both them. Rather, it was becoming a bit expected now. On one hand, he enjoyed the schedule as it opened up the world of Pon farr to him. But Amy enjoyed a good surprise, even if he did not.

Now that she was his fiancée, she was going to bind her life to him in so many more ways than just sexual intercourse, and he wanted to show her that he loved each and every one of those additional ways. There was the taking care of each other with the cooking and the cleaning, there was the sharing of nourishment together, and there was the clever intellectual repartee as illustrated by quick-witted historically accurate naughty poems.

* * *

**"** **Everyone knows the best foreplay is a rigid adherence to a strict schedule."**

So why not just give in to their mutual desire and make love early? It's not that he didn't think about it. A lot. Mostly in the shower with a sock hanging on the doorknob before Amy woke up.

But he didn't really want to. The extended period of foreplay was exciting. For once, Sheldon felt . . . normal. He knew he had no need to think that, because he knew that his mildly graysexual status wasn't abnormal as there wasn't anything wrong with him. It just wasn't average. But, even with his knowledge and Amy's acceptance, there were still times all he wanted to be was average for her. And, he remembered from his last two experiences, once the valve was released, it took a long time for the pressure to build back up. If they made love on the tenth, for example, it was unlikely he'd be the mood by her birthday again. Oh, he would probably still do it for her, as part of their agreement and because it would be a gift for her. But, now that he knew how much more enjoyable it was for both of them to satisfy a mutual craving, he didn't want to perform only out of custom. He wanted Amy to know and to feel how achingly desperate he was to touch her in that way.

So, for just a couple of weeks, he felt manly and virile and normal, and he felt like everything was perfect for Amy. Like _he_ was perfect for Amy. It was such a rare joy that he didn't want it to end any sooner than it had to.

* * *

**"** **I'm sure it's just the first sharp cramps of arousal."**

Sheldon squinted and tried to lift his hand to shield his eyes from the harsh light, but his arm was too heavy. It fell back against the cold tile floor. Oh, the tile was cold. He rolled to rest his feverish cheek against it but that only made the room spin more. Another wave of nausea came with a groan, and his diaphragm lurched. The only good thing about how much he'd already vomited was that nothing came up with the gagging reflex at the back of his throat.

"You have to let me in," he heard Amy yell from the other side of the door, the sentence ending in a heaving sound.

"I can't move."

The door swung open, hitting him in the leg and Amy half-ran, half-crawled over him, reaching the toilet bowl just in time as his face was smothered by the foul-smelling sweatshirt she was wearing. The weight of her knee on his stomach and the sound of her retching made his stomach roll again.

Perhaps it was the fever talking, but Sheldon croaked out, "This must be true love."

"What do you mean - huuuuhhh!" She heaved again.

"I - I don't remember. Something about . . ." And then he passed out.

* * *

**"** **You know, it's still your birthday. And we both are feeling better. Let's go jump for a bit and then find a bedroom to have coitus in."**

"Sheldon, when you said find a bedroom, I really thought you meant at Bernadette and Howard's house," Amy grumbled as she unlocked the door to their apartment. "I thought you were trying to spice things up with the risk of discovery in a semi-public place, not drive back across town to our place."

"Hey, now." Sheldon ran a finger down her arm. "I changed the sheets and disinfected the bedroom while you were in the shower. What's spicier to the nostrils than the smell of Lysol?"

Although the bedroom had been cleaned, the rest of the apartment had not yet. There hadn't been time to do more than blow the candles out between trips to the bathroom. They were met by the remnants of that disastrous meal still upon the table, the dirty dishes remained piled in the sink, and the butter churn sat by the island, taunting them.

"Hmmmm," Sheldon said, surveying their home, "perhaps you're right. This looks like a crime scene. Come on, let's drive back. Or maybe find an available clean room." He turned on his heal, but Amy stopped him walking out the door with her arm.

"How about across the hall? Penny said they were staying through dinner; they won't be back for some time."

Sheldon looked at the door to 4A. "You do know they took my old bed out my room, right?" He shrugged. "I guess we could show Leonard's mattress how proper coitus is performed."

"You know," Amy stepped close to him, her voice sultry, "there's the sofa."

He gulped. "In my spot?"

"Think about it. Every Friday night, when we're sitting there eating and acting innocent, we'll know exactly what we've done there."

The idea had its appeal. The door could be locked; and Amy was correct: there was very little risk of being discovered. But it still felt naughty to have coitus on a piece of furniture designed . . . well, not for coitus. And then, like the proverbial lightbulb, he realized that's exactly what Amy hoped for. "Alright. You grab a non-chafing blanket and meet me over there. I'm going to turn off the security camera."

"Like hell you are. Sex tape, here I come!"

* * *

**"** **I'm trying to show you that I can change. I don't want you to miss out on things because of me."**

Eight years ago, he probably would have taken his friends complaints as compliments. He would have been proud that he had trained them to bend to his will so easily and successfully. And, if he were being honest, he still was.

But Amy was different. She had already proven she had the flexibility and the stamina to play his version of limbo, the version in which she loved him enough to disregard the amount of coitus she would have liked. He didn't want her to have to miss out on so many other things for him. What especially stung was that, having secured her promise of marriage, spending hours planning said wedding with her, he thought she already knew how much he had changed, how much he continued to work on changing for her. So, if the things she wanted to do stung him, he tried to remember what she had given up for him.

* * *

**"** **Not to brag, but Amy's last birthday brought my coital tally up to four."  
** **"** **Whatever you're doing, it's not bragging."**

Having so many things about which to brag, Sheldon considered himself an expert at bragging. He should probably start bragging about how well he bragged. One does not brag without knowing it and why. If he had to explain succinctly why his coital tally with Amy was worthy of bragging, he would say it was a perfect example of quality over quantity.

If he was given the time to pontificate in the style he preferred, he would say that those sessions had taught him more about himself than similar stretches of time in his past. He'd learned what it meant to give entirely of himself for another and been astonished to discover that he, too, had reaped enjoyment. He'd learnt the power of such an intimate action when it was shared with someone he loved. He'd learned the power of that true love. He learned that even though there was no one way to make love to Amy, all the variations in speed and positions were just different refractions of their love. He'd learned that such a connection was a thing to be treasured and anticipated, but it was also powerful enough that its scarcity only made it more sacred to them.

Sheldon had learned a thousand things that he wasn't at all sure if anyone else had ever discovered, at least not with the depth and sincerity that he had. And the greatest of these discoveries was that he wasn't just having coitus with Amy, but rather that they were making love together.

* * *

**"** **It's an MRI of our brains Photoshopped to look like they're kissing."  
** **"** **Is it too sexy?"**

Oh, no. Had he and Amy inadvertently created pornography? Would everyone know that Sheldon considered Amy's lips and her brain as her two sexiest organs? Amy's lovely lady lobes.

* * *

**"** **I'm the only man you do that for."**

When he said he wanted to dance with Amy on their wedding day, he was thinking some sort of slow waltz, holding her close as their friends and family watched. Or maybe something like the cha-cha, to prove how synchronized they were as they effortlessly followed the same rhythm.

But now . . . Sheldon hoped he could get a dance like that in the privacy of their honeymoon suite.

* * *

**"** **Wow! You look beautiful! You look like a pile of swans."**

The pure white fabric billowed around her, wrapping her in a gauzy cocoon. Sheldon's eyes were filled with a frothy, hazy vision of lace, like clouds on a warm summer day. There was the soft pink blush of her cheeks and the sparkling green of her eyes.

Perhaps it was the unexpected moment, but Sheldon heard his breath catch in his throat. Amy looked beautiful, even more beautiful than any other time he'd seen her in clothes and that even included her lab coat. His heart fluttered and took flight in his chest, and he felt his entire body angle toward her.

She was like a swan, curved and graceful. And, when the moment was right, she would shed her feathers and rise, sleek and unblemished. She would not travel alone; she would lift him up, up, up, higher than he'd ever thought he could fly. They would spread their wings together in exhilaration and harmony. He couldn't wait to soar with her, his mate for life.

* * *

**"** **I can't wait to marry you."**

Amy frowned as she studied the screen on her laptop. The voluminous wedding dress had been removed and put back in its garment bag, but Sheldon still couldn't take his eyes off his beautiful bride-to-be. "Look at this. I think we need to add more items to our registry; almost everything is gone. Maybe some more towels? New sheets?"

He peeked around the edge of the screen. "I thought we agreed we don't have enough room for more. Let's set up a GoFundMe for a trip to visit CERN instead."

"Emily Post would not approve."

"I don't remember seeing that name on the guest list. What's she buying us?"

Shaking her head slightly, Amy closed the laptop and put in on the coffee table. "Perhaps you're right - not that we need a GoFundMe! - but that we don't need more things. We'll have each other; that's the most important thing." She smiled up at him.

"Of course." He took her hand. "But I wouldn't turn up my nose at a tour of the world's largest particle physics laboratory, ether."

"Actually, Sheldon, this brings up something I wanted to ask you."

"Yes, I do speak fluent German, French, and Italian, so we'll have no difficulties in Switzerland."

Amy blinked slowly and then said, "No. What I wanted to ask is whether or not you think we should exchange wedding gifts. Some couples do. But I know how you feel about gift-giving in general, and, since we already decided we have too much stuff, I'm willing to forego this tradition."

"Well, I know exactly what I'm getting you."

"You do?" Her mouth stayed open slightly.

Sheldon nodded. "I had a pretty good idea, but then when I walked in and saw you in that dress, I was certain." He paused. "I think it might even be more fun to tell you now."

"Really? But I - I haven't thought about it. I thought you'd say no and -"

"Shhh." He squeezed her hand. "That's the genius of my gift: it's actually for both of us."

"Oh?"

"Amy," Sheldon licked his lips, "I want to give you the honeymoon of your dreams. All of it. I want to make love, not just on our wedding night, but several times throughout the entire week."

"You - you do?" Her eyes brightened.

"I do. Societal norms dictate that I go after you like a jackhammer, and I want you to have the full experience: pounding and loud and jarring and -"

"Ummmmm." Amy stopped him with her other hand on his arm. "That's the wrong image, I think. No heavy machinery."

Well, that wasn't the response he expected. "Like rabbits in estrus? Rabid and frequent - "

"Sheldon. Don't worry about the example. I just - I don't want our honeymoon to be filled with something you feel is mandatory because society says so, that you don't really want to do. I just want to have a fun time on vacation with you."

He shifted his arm so that he could gather both of her hands between his. "Amy, I said make love. I want to make love with you. Together. From the moment I walked in that door earlier today and saw you in that dress . . ." He took a deep breath. "I can't wait to take it off of you and discover you underneath. I know that I don't often crave coitus, but this is important to me, too. I'm so lucky that you've agreed to join your life with mine, and it seems only appropriate to solemnity and the importance of the occasion to join you in every way possible. It's the thing I enjoy most about being sexually intimate with you, that we can never be closer than we are in that time. And what is mating for life, if we don't actually mate?"

Amy smiled beautifully up at him, just as she had earlier in her dress. "I really want that, too."

"Now we have something else to look forward to." He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Let the Pon farr begin!"

* * *

**"** **So are you feeling okay? No wedding jitters?"**

No, no wedding jitters. Jittery in other ways? Yes.

Pon farr was different this time. There were still the little flirtatious winks, but they were mixed up in the grins of excitement as the last details for their wedding fell into place. The growing, aching need to touch Amy's body intimately and see how it responded remained, but that was wound up in something deeper, an absolute imperative to begin the rest of his life with her.

It was so strange and unexpected, but also welcome; the desire for physical intimacy was still there, still as strong as ever, but it had somehow been changed and augmented by the solemnity Sheldon felt for their coming nuptials, by the honor of being chosen by this woman whose intelligence and kindness and patience and beauty were unmatched. There was still room for all the lust and the teasing, but miraculously he found stolen moments to contemplate how much better it would feel when they were married. Amy had already taught him the difference between coitus and making love, but now he understood she had one more thing to teach him: how to make love to his wife.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	21. Chapter 21

**"** **My equations have been trying to describe an imperfect world, and the only way to do that is to introduce imperfection into the underlying theory."**

In the theory of supersymmetry, fermions and bosons have identical mass. Every particle has its own associated match in the other half, whose spin is only a half-integer different, a known if still speculative quantity. But they share the same mass and internal quantum numbers, and that's what makes them a perfect match. Superpartners is the term.

Sheldon had no doubt Amy was his superpartner, his own associated match. In so much of their relationship, they carried the same mass, equaling each other with their intelligence and wit. Their symmetry was . . . perfectly symmetrical.

But Amy's comment about his bow tie had niggled at his brain since she first said it. And then, when his mother reiterated the same thought, it came to Sheldon with a flash: there was one way, one very important way, in which he and Amy were not symmetrical. It had been there since the initial moment they met: their fundamental sexuality lacked symmetry. Amy had both more sexual desire than he and had sacrificed so much more for her desire.

And yet, as the bow tie around his necked proved, they were still superpartners despite that difference in mass. In fact, the effort it took to level that facet of their relationship made them stronger. They were like two microscopic particles learning to balance on a teeter-totter, see-sawing back and forth on this pivot point, each one adjusting themselves as needed so that they could both remain steady, learning from their missteps and stumbles but never allowing the other to fall. The universe was imperfect, and, although he would only ever admit this to his bride, Sheldon was imperfect. Amy was imperfect. For all his effort and for all her compromise, their sexual relationship was imperfect. And yet it wasn't. It was perfect because it was perfect for them, at this point in their lives. It was perfect because they were both willing to continue working on it, to continue to adapt for the other's sake.

It was even possible that they wouldn't be getting married if this hadn't been a challenge for them. If they'd rushed headlong into coitus, Sheldon may not have seen and appreciated Amy's patience and acceptance. Amy may not have realized how much effort he was willing to put into his love, how willing he was to modify for her. They may have too busy rolling in the hay to roll in their shared commonalities.

And that was exactly what was wrong with the theory of supersymmetry: it completely discounted the value of reciprocal modifications. Nay, the necessity. The universe, and love, were not static concepts. They needed room to expend, room to grow toward and into each other, to support and balance each other. Superpartners were not equal; they each accounted for what the other lacked. Just as Amy had tried to impress upon him during their Christmas trip to Texas. She discovered this before he did, even though she did not understand the implications for physics. Yet.

Sheldon burst into her dressing room almost out of breath. It took two imperfect particles to make perfection. It all came to him on the race across the Athenaeum: he wouldn't be a groom without Amy carrying so much weight and the universe wouldn't be so beautiful without her.

* * *

**"** **We're here to celebrate the marriage of Sheldon Lee Cooper and Amy Farrah Fowler."**

It felt like the room became a vacuum and the only source of oxygen left was Amy walking down the aisle toward him. Sheldon's entire life had been reduced to this moment, this pinpoint of happiness and contentment that slowly enlarged, approaching him, until she was all he could see. All he ever wanted to see. She was so very beautiful.

She was his bride. He was marrying her. Now. Not a moment too soon. His whole life, from here on out, would be composed of moments that came like her smile - bright enough to blot out an atomic bomb detonation. He couldn't wait for each and every one of them. All the moments of marriage to Amy: moments filled with nothing and moments filled with everything, colliding at the same time.

And another flash came to him.

* * *

**"** **Save something for the honeymoon."**

"Sooooo, this is it," Amy exhaled softly as they stood at the hotel room door together. "Our wedding night."

"Indeed." Sheldon gulped, fumbling a bit as the key card slid into the lock, and Amy chuckled beside him.

"Nervous?" she asked, her voice light and playful. "Feeling virginal?"

Sheldon smiled over at her as the door swung open. "Do you want me to carry you over the threshold?"

"I don't think we'll both fit with this dress. Maybe when we get home?" He nodded at her reply and picked up their suitcases, flipping the wall switch as he entered, waiting until her full skirt was clear before he shut the door behind them.

Alone now in the quiet for the first time in hours, Sheldon took both of her hands in his and studied her, taking in his wife - wife! - from head to toe and back again. Amy had removed her veil early in the reception but otherwise she was still dressed in her wedding finery. There had been some discussions about changing before leaving the Athenaeum, but Amy said that as she would only get to wear her wedding dress once, she wanted to wear it for as long as possible.

"You look beautiful. I love you so much," he said.

"I love you, too. I'm so happy right now. Everything was perfect, just as I imagined it."

"It was even better than I imagined," he admitted. "I knew I'd get a wife but I didn't know I'd also have an epiphany."

There was another pause as they studied each other. Sheldon wasn't sure what Amy was thinking, but he was working hard to burn this image into his brain. He'd remember it all, of course, but, as he'd done several times that day, he worked to define the way his memory would surface in the future: the sharpest, clearest, purest version possible.

"I should probably . . . slip into something more comfortable," Amy murmured. Sheldon knew there was a surprise piece of lingerie packed in the suitcase; Amy had been careful to keep it wrapped securely in the pink Victoria's Secret tissue paper so he wouldn't see it too soon.

"Amy, I - Can you save it for, um, tomorrow maybe?"

Her eyebrows went up in surprise. "Of course. If you're not in the mood or too tired -"

"No, not that," Sheldon interrupted. Then softer, "Not at all. It's just that . . . can I undress you? Ever since I first saw you in that dress, I've imagined taking it off of you. I've been so lucky to discover you in my life, first as my friend, then as my girlfriend, then as my fiancée, that I want to discover you as my wife. My greatest discovery is not hidden in electrons or behind an equation; it's under twelve pounds of lace."

It must have been the perfect thing to say, because Amy's eyes softened with the shimmer of unshed tears, a look he recognized from when they exchanged vows. "Oh, Sheldon, I'd love that."

He smiled at her, taking her and that dress in again, and then asked, "I have no idea where to start. How did you ever get it on? Did you apparate into it?"

Amy laughed softly. "Maybe with the tiara? Just pull straight up."

"Alright." He let go of her hands and reached for the little crown, lifting it gently despite the small tug of resistance, and the jeweled circular came up with several pins hanging from it. "Remember when I gave you this?"

"It was perfect. I loved it at first sight, too."

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the hotel room, Sheldon swiveled his head around. "On the dresser?"

"Yes." Amy's gown rustled behind him as they moved together. "And we're - we're right by the bed now." She gestured with her hand.

"Now what?" There still didn't seem to be a starting point.

"The cape buttons in the back." She turned around for him and he now noticed the row of tiny pearl buttons.

"Wow, that's a lot of buttons!" He reached for the top one; it was shiny and smooth beneath his fingertip. "Amy, I - I had another epiphany today, something other than super asymmetry."

"Really?"

"Yes, when you were walking down the aisle toward me." Sheldon paused to gulp afresh at the memory. "I've never told you, but I've always struggled with the exact adjective for intimacy with you. Not what I am, my sexuality; I mean how I feel about making love with you. Every time has been unique and yet there was always a commonality that I could feel, but the word eluded me." The buttons were coming rapidly now, and Sheldon removed the lace capelet with a flourish when the last was released. The neckline of Amy's dress itself was lower than he expected, and he reached up to caress the cervical vertebrae of her upper back, eliciting a shiver from his bride.

"Oh, we should close the drapes," she said suddenly.

Sheldon glanced over at the open window and felt foolish in his eagerness. Quickly, he crossed the room and pulled them closed. Grinning sheepishly, he returned to his bride and her massive dress.

He folded the capelet and sat it on the foot of the bed. Now that it was gone, he could see the narrow placket for a zipper at the back of her dress. "Anyway, I tried to think of words: sublime, majestic, resplendent. Good words, but none of them were right, none of them encapsulated everything I felt." The zipper caught at her waist and Sheldon bent down to inspect it. He pulled the thicker fabric of her skirt straight, all those extra layers providing resistance for the last few inches of zipper.

"And today, I discovered it. Amy, making love to you feels . . . numinous."

"Numinous?" she asked as the dress fell like a pillow around her ankles. "Give me your hand, I'll step out."

Sheldon supported her as she lifted her equally full slip, and a white bejeweled slipper peeked out to step over the moat of lace surrounding her. Only when she was safely clear did she look up at him, still holding his hand. "But that's a religious term. And you're, well, not."

"I know." Sheldon reached down to pick up the dress, holding it carefully by the shoulders. "I said twelve pounds, but this feels more like sixteen." He shook his head gently and turned to drape the dress over the back of a chair, making sure it wouldn't fall. Turning back to look at her, he smiled. "I don't mean it religiously. Let me explain. But first, what now?"

Amy still looked fully dressed. There was the large underskirt or slip or whatever it was called, just as puffy as her dress had been, and she was wearing some type of silky looking white tank top tucked into it. "The crinoline has a tie at the back," she explained as she turned around again. There in the curve of her spine was a perfect satin bow, pale blue with long ribbons falling to her knees. "My something blue."

He took hold of the ribbon and starting pulling, the satin making a faint zipping sound as he did so. "I mean numinous as in on a different and rare plane of existence, something outside of daily reality, like when the Bifrost bridge opens to Asgard and you see a different realm for the first time," he continued explaining as the bow came free, and he tugged to loosen the drawstring waist of her skirt. "That first time we made love I was so nervous -"

"Really? You didn't show it."

"I was, though. But I was also fascinated by the whole experience, by you. I didn't anticipate many of your reactions, but they were all so beautiful, Amy, everything about your body. And, then, after that, when I started to look forward to it again, I was still surprised every time." The crinoline dropped suddenly, and they repeated the action of stepping over it. Sheldon swallowed hard at Amy's stocking-covered legs, two solid milky lines from her fancy shoes to her frilly garter. And beyond. "I'm so attracted to you but also awed by your power over me. I felt - feel - overwhelmed and inspired every time I think about touching you intimately."

A tear was making its silent down way Amy's cheek, and Sheldon brushed it away with his thumb. "Amy, you humble me. And make me stronger at the same time. Like Mary Jane did for Peter Parker in _Spider-Man_ but better."

He reached for the bottom of her little top, and she raised her arms so that he could pull it over her head. This, too, was folded and added to the capelet before he turned back. "How many layers _are_ you wearing?"

Even after all that, she was still wearing white lace underwear, something lacy around her waist that strapped into the white stockings over her thighs, and that garter just above her right knee. "Penny and I went shopping," Amy explained. "I wanted the entire bridal experience. Do you not like it?" Another tear fell and Sheldon was afraid it was suddenly the wrong type.

"No! Yes! I mean . . I love it. You look beautiful." Sheldon took a deep breath. "I look at you now, in only your most private of undergarments," he took in the plunge and swell of her breasts behind the white lace bra, "and I am so grateful to you."

Amy was crying in earnest now, one tear following another down and dropping off her jaw, and he reached to hold her face with reverence between his palms, hoping he would get the words right. "This is the vow I couldn't say to you in front of anyone else, because it is a profoundly personal experience to be shared only with you: falling in love with you has been like undressing you. You peeled me back, layer by layer, and revealed my true self, even to me. Amy, I know I'm not sexually normal -"

She made a squeaking sound of protest, but Sheldon continued, "Shhh, it's okay. It is. We both know it. It used to be something I didn't even like thinking about. At first because I thought it was a waste of time and then because . . . it was painful. I thought no one would ever want to be with me if I were asexual, so I decided I didn't need anyone. I think I closed my heart and mind to the idea of companionship. But what I want to say is that you taught me that it was perfectly fine to be that way, that you would love me regardless. And because I knew I could trust you, I found the courage to try something I didn't think I ever would. I don't know what the future holds or if I'll ever discover a more average libido. But I know that you'll always be there for me, whether I'm asexual or graysexual or demisexual or something else entirely. I know that I am loved, and capable of returning that love, no matter my sexual orientation. And I owe that knowledge to you."

A sob exploded from Amy's throat, and Sheldon pulled her in close to him. Only now did he realize there were tears on his face, too. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry . . . or me."

"Happy - tears," her voice rattled. Sheldon reached up to smooth her hair, but it was still twisted and crusty from whatever product she'd put into it. He settled for patting her back. Amy's tears seemed to calm with a sniff, and she pulled back. "Thank you, Sheldon, that was so beautiful. I'm sorry I ugly cried." She reached up and wiped what appeared to be the last tear away, smearing her makeup in the process. "Can I go wash my face? And maybe brush my hair? Do you mind waiting?"

"Not at all. Take your time." He licked his lips. "And, um, will you come back wearing the underwear?"

"All of it?" Amy looked down at herself. "Maybe it is too complicated."

"Oh, I think it will be like a puzzle box to reach you! Just when I thought this day couldn't get any better!"

With a blush and a chuckle, Amy left him for the bathroom. It took her less time than Sheldon expected, because he had just finished folding his tuxedo pants and pulling down the covers when she came out of the bathroom. Her face was clean, all the earlier makeup gone, and her hair was full around her head, as though they'd already had coitus, not that they were preparing to do so.

"You look beautiful," Sheldon hushed, as his eyes skimmed along the top of her lace bra again. Then he looked into her eyes. "My bride."

Amy stepped closer and smiled. "My husband. Shall we?"

Sheldon stretched toward her and took her hand, helping her into bed, weaving his fingers through hers as she settled next to him.

Neither of them could tell the future. Perhaps, with time and Amy's love, Sheldon would find he desired a more frequent coitus schedule. Or perhaps not. All that mattered was that he knew that their marriage was a marriage of love and acceptance.

And joy. True, other-worldly joy. Daily, from Amy's smile and her beautiful mind. But also here, on their wedding night, when Sheldon gave himself over to her in every sense of the word, because what he really desired - perpetually, continuously, on every occasion, without exception - was the combination of acceptance and awe only she could give.

_To be continued . . ._

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**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	22. Chapter 22

**"** **You realize I'm not a particularly physical person. But I want to be a good husband to you and intimacy is a part of that."**

Stray strands of her hair covered Amy's face as she rolled in her sleep, and Sheldon brushed them softly away. The tips were damp from their post-coital shower; even though she twisted all her hair up, some always escaped. It was just one of the little details that, once discovered, delighted him.

Tomorrow morning, Sheldon would log this evening's physical activities in the algorithm app he had on his phone, hidden in the folder he'd renamed Duncel along with other needless things like the calculator and the health app so that Amy wouldn't accidentally stumble across it, thus maintaining the illusion of spontaneity.

The algorithm, like their relationship, was a living, breathing thing. After realizing that perhaps he'd put too much pressure and emphasis on coitus during their honeymoon, Sheldon initially considered a quarterly schedule before deciding that was unfair to Amy. Currently the algorithm was set to generate a so-called-random event about once a month; technically, once every twenty to forty days. Certain dates were loaded as constants, Amy's birthday and their wedding date among them. Amy knew about these dates, because, as she'd shared when they discussed it further, there were times she enjoyed Pon farr, too. Just not every time. And not down to the hour. Some dates were excluded; he'd factored in her menstrual cycle. And some dates hadn't panned out, such as when Amy had that cold ten days ago and only wanted some Vicks rubbed on her chest before she went to bed early. Not that he wanted to make love then, either; experience had taught him that nothing killed the mood like a virus. Only when a scheduled date had passed did Sheldon document it, and the algorithm adjusted future events accordingly. That's no doubt why this one had come up again so soon after the aforementioned postponement.

It wasn't just the dates; Sheldon had loaded in some common positions and foreplay for pseudo-randomization, also, although Sheldon certainly would allow Amy to upend any curious suggestion he made. But he discovered that having something specific to look forward to, remembered or imagined, helped to start his Pon farr cycle. As it always had been, it was Amy's obvious fulfillment from physical intimacy that was his greatest aphrodisiac. Especially pleased by his own cleverness, he'd chosen the fight music from _Amok Time_ as the alarm tone to go off thirty-six hours before a scheduled event. Although now he was getting a little worried it was becoming Pavlovian, because yesterday it sounded while he was at his desk and an image of mid-orgasm Amy immediately flashed across his mind. How was it possible that he didn't think once about coitus for a full eight days and then suddenly he had an erection from from simply visualizing it? At least no one came to his office after that. How would he have explained it - any of it - if someone else had been present?

As with so many scientific endeavors, the equation had freed him. Approximately thirty-eight hours a month in which he would consider or actually be making love with Amy, and the rest of the month he was free to not think about it at all. After a few months, he'd inquired if the schedule was adequate to her needs, and she reassured him that there was no need to look over his shoulder for a longshoreman. He even gave up his monthly masturbatory ritual; it had always been more of a chore than anything else, and, now that he'd found somewhere much better than the shower to ejaculate once a month, he didn't think he needed it.

It was like those years before he met Amy, when coitus rarely crossed his mind. Oh, there were still times that her sassy lips taunted him with the intelligence or the stubbornness of her brain, and he felt forced to quiet the passion with a deep kiss. Sometimes, then, coitus would spring into his head. But it was her lips and her brain, those two organs that were now incontrovertibly linked, that he really wanted. The difference was that these episodes didn't confuse him or concern him anymore; he was free of the deeper worries that these make out sessions only frustrated his wife. The years of angst and sleepless nights and fear that Amy would leave him - or had left him - over his sexuality were gone. For anywhere between eighteen and half and thirty-eight and half days, Amy's brilliant suggestion of a secret schedule had been a gift of peace, a gift of time to enjoy just being together to admire the qualities they so loved in each other, to recognize the other's intelligence and appreciate the other's ability to see the universe in a unique but complimentary way. Days filled with romance and intimacy and sensuality of various sorts, but none of them sexual.

And then, periodically, they gave each other those same things, but wrapped in the gift of sexual love. Their joinings were more relaxed now that they were more frequent. Not that there wasn't passion or fervor anymore, but, on the second month, the algorithm had suggested a weekend morning session. That rendezvous had been especially unhurried and warm; they took their time to explore each other as though it was new, to stop occasionally and talk, and they'd cuddled for longer before their shower. By mutual assent, Sheldon had found a way to fold this new pattern into their evening assignations, as well: they would retire early and take the time to enjoy all the forms of intimacy they shared: touching, whispering, gently debating, and even occasionally giggling. Making love to his wife, he realized, was the entire process.

Amy's hand twitched on the pillow, and Sheldon thought perhaps she'd fallen into a dream. Usually he fell fast asleep, too, after they returned clean and flannel-bound to their bed; but tonight, he was enjoying watching his sexually satisfied wife sleep.

For some reason, no doubt hormone induced, he thought about that conversation of his friends he'd overheard in the hallway years ago, before he met Amy. He remembered how he'd frowned slightly at the thought of coitus, shook his head at the needless waste of time, and returned to his task without any doubts about his asexuality. He didn't understand the need for coitus and he mistakenly believed it would be self-explanatory. But now he knew it was among the grand mysteries of the universe. Not just the numerous variations to the act itself or the complex equation behind his algorithm, but the way he felt about it.

Although he felt the words he'd decided on define his current sexuality remained accurate and even though he'd discovered the correct adjective to describe the power of making love with Amy, those factors didn't mean that Sheldon understood everything about it. In fact, he was now willing to admit that things might change again in the future, that his sexuality could be fluid in the most viscid sense, and that, in time and incremental steps, he might be willing to move further along the bell curve. Amy had shown him, with her love and patience, that coitus, like string theory and dark matter, was a mystery. A beautiful, glorious mystery for them to slowly unravel together. She held his hand secure as they explored their own personal super asymmetry.

They had unlocked a mystery tonight with his algorithm's suggestion. Sheldon felt like a longshoreman himself saying it, and so he'd only whispered it, pointing out it was an experiment so that Amy wouldn't feel embarrassed, either. Instead, she seemed pleased that he'd offered something new, and the way she barely heaved out "Oh, Sheldon, yes, right there - Shel-dddoonnn!" just before she shuttered through an especially guttural orgasm . . . Yep, he was definitely going to have to change that alarm tone.

Inspired by the memory of her vocalizations, unable to wait, Sheldon rolled and reached for his phone in the dark, squinting as the display came on too bright. A few swipes later, he smiled. And then he paused, gazing at his beautiful wife out of the corner of his eyes. Even though they weren't touching, he felt her hand in his, and he imagined it squeezing his tighter as something osculated ever-so-slightly beneath him. Something almost imperceptible changed, and he nodded as he tapped out the change on the screen. Then he put the phone back and wrapped himself around Amy, falling asleep quickly and deeply into the kind of deep oblivion that can only come with freedom and peace. He was done thinking about coitus for now.

But while he slept, the algorithm recalculated using his new input parameters. Once every nineteen to thirty-nine days.

THE END

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_**Thank you, dear readers, for all your sweet reviews and comments on this story. I'm sorry I couldn't** _ **_answer all the guest reviews personally, but they were read and appreciated. Your outpouring of support for this story in particular was a wonderful bolster._ **

**_I wasn't sure how people would react when I decided to write this, because I wanted to write something serious about what I feared may be an unpopular viewpoint. Although I enjoy writing the Shamy relationship differently, in truth I really do feel Sheldon is like this: a very mild graysexaul and a demisexual one at that. I think it's clear he enjoys making love with Amy when he gets around to it, but I still believe it's only because Amy is there and because he sees how much she enjoys it first. As he said in 12.1, he just doesn't think about it very often._ **

**_Until we meet here again, you can follow me on Instagram, handle:_ aprilinparisfanfic _._**


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